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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099130">House of the Wind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Technicolour'>Technicolour (Lirriel)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ASTRO (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Animal Death, Light Angst, M/M, POV Multiple, Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:33:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24099130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirriel/pseuds/Technicolour</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced into a marriage of convenience for the sake of his nation, Park Jinwoo knows he cannot ever hope for his husband to love him. But when tragedy strikes, he finds himself more and more reliant upon this prince from a foreign land.</p><p>(It's too easy to fall in love with someone covered in puppies.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Park Jinwoo | Jin Jin/Yoon Sanha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Proposal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>content warning for the entire story: animal death, light classism, light xenophobia, light homophobia. coarse language. eventual smut*. other warnings will be added here/the chapter they appear in if needed. </p><p>there will be future side chaky (eunwoo/rocky). once it appears in the story, the tags will be updated to include it.</p><p>*<span class="small">the rating will be bumped to E (Explicit) once sexual content is reached in the story.</span></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Third Day of the Eighth Month </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
</p><p>Jinwoo held no love for the imperial palace. The centerpiece of his nation, it stood as testament to the great wealth his family had gathered over generations and the veneration that had been bestowed upon them by the seabound Dragon Kings. From its gates ran the Golden Highway, along which the capital had first been built and which now served to connect the nation to its many neighbors.</p><p>He stood outside the council chamber, one hand shoved into a trouser pocket. It was the other that caused issue: he was so used to having it placed upon a dog’s head, scratching an ear or smoothing down errant fur, that his fingers now flexed uselessly at his side. But his mother’s administrators were scrupulous in their demands, and as he was visiting for business rather than pleasure—well, he would rather face their ire over an unwelcome hound another day.</p><p>He had received the summons a fortnight before, and his fingers tapped nervously on his thigh as he recalled the contents. The missive had given no indication on <em>why</em> his presence was so desperately required, but his sister had sent along a letter of her own. Passing mention of the country that lay along their southern border had helped Jinwoo puzzle out why he might be needed in the time it had taken to travel to the capital.</p><p>The doorman nodded him through, and Jinwoo stepped into a hall that was only ever used by the queen when the issue at hand affected her immediate family. He found her sat at the head of a small table, hands folded within her lap and her mouth drawn tight. Her expression grew tenser as she spotted him in turn—and then, she smiled, and the few councilmen that had sat with her hurried to their feet in the presence of the second prince, third child of their reigning monarch.  </p><p>“Your Most Gracious Majesty,” Jinwoo said with a smile, dipping down into a bow. He counted out the seconds in his head, then rose back up and allowed his mother’s advisors to welcome him in turn. As he had expected, his exaggerated greeting had smoothed out some of the wrinkles that had marred her brow—her smile was lighter now, more natural, and his own mouth stretched wider.</p><p>“You can refuse,” she told him kindly as he moved to sit opposite her. Almost immediately, there was a small outburst from amongst her councilmen, though no single man clearly voiced his dissent.</p><p>Jinwoo licked his lips and locked eyes with the Yeonsan diplomat: a woman of darker complexion who had shown no dismay at his mother’s words. She answered his look with a small tilting of her chin and the flicker of a smile before her expression leveled again. But it was only natural that she would show such little reaction, he thought. This entire event must appear as child’s play after navigating the deep waters of international politics.</p><p><em>She knows I won’t</em> <em>say no. </em></p><p>No matter what his mother said, no matter what her advisors feared, the end result was a foregone conclusion, reached before he had even stepped foot in the capital.</p><p>“And what would I be refusing?” he answered, turning a questioning look upon his mother. She would have known that Jihae had already warned him; now it was a matter of laying it out before the public. Though, in this case, knowledge would only extend as far as the capital’s administrators. The people of Nhaamju would be alerted after all parties were assured that the match would be made.</p><p>He did not like the secrecy of it. It was why he was so content to stay in his northern palace, where he might focus only upon his hounds.</p><p>His mother gestured toward one of the councilmen, who cleared his throat nervously before speaking. “In times past, we counted Yeonsan amongst our allies. However, with the annexing of Hwangcheon, they are now the only nation in the Eastern Kingdoms to hold no present political ties to us.”</p><p>The man’s words weighed heavily in the still air. Jinwoo wondered at them. He knew Yeonsan were not warmongers: they prized the stroke of a brush, the turn of a leaf. And Nhaamju itself was not so easily roused to battle. The absorption of Hwangcheon had been several generations past, and its royal family had married into Jinwoo’s. In the present day, Nhaamju was most well-known for its trade and diplomacy. It had been proclaimed by many to be a merchant's paradise.</p><p>But, he conceded to himself, the pact with Yeonsan had also been built upon blood ties stretched thin with time: its promise was nearly so old as the imperial palace. It had been forged when Nhaamju was still small and not the sprawling nation it was at present. This thought gave rise to another, and at last, Jinwoo raised his head and asked, “Did Yeonsan suggest this?”</p><p>The councilman faltered in his speech.</p><p>Jinwoo had not interrupted him, had spoken during a lull while the man organized his thoughts, but there were several worrisome seconds where his mother’s advisor struggled to answer.</p><p>He finally managed to say, “Yes, Your Highness,” wearing an expression Jinwoo thought quite akin to when one of his puppies puddled in an unfortunate spot.</p><p>“Succinctly,” the Yeonsan diplomat cut in, clearly the most well-prepared of the bunch, “they have proposed an alliance by way of marriage. Of the eastern kingdoms, theirs is the only one we have lost touch with, and we would be able to greatly capitalize upon their skills. Exchange programs, right of first refusal on goods and services, expanded trading routes, ease of access to the sea—and, of course, this would create a powerful bond between our countries. We do not need warriors, we do not need rogues, we do not need priests—but as our wealth grows, so do the people seek to further enrich their souls. When it comes to the arts, Yeonsan stands alone.”</p><p>“And, of course, they asked <em>us</em>,” Jinwoo’s mother interjected softly. “They are willing to negotiate, which affords us a certain leverage.”</p><p>Jinwoo knew his mother well enough to understand what she left unsaid. That Yeonsan would initiate such a proposal meant Nhaamju was free to twist the conditions to best suit their needs. But the concessions she would demand did not interest him. Instead, he focused on the single word that had caused his pulse to spike as soon as the Yeonsan diplomat had uttered it.</p><p>“You said something of marriage?” he asked. He licked his lips as he asked, a habit that had come from a lifetime spent amongst dogs.</p><p>“They offer their youngest son in marriage. He would enter into our family and take our name.”</p><p>“So they’ve heard of my proclivities,” Jinwoo said weakly. He wore a smile as he uttered the words, but his poor attempt at humor was further undermined by the way his eyes dropped. He had known it would be this, had prepared himself time and time again to face the inevitability of it. And yet to have it now laid before him—something inside him crumpled, a seed of unease already beginning to bud in the cavern of his stomach.</p><p>“Jinwoo,” his mother said, and he raised his head to acknowledge her. It was surprising, to have her fully cast away the mantle of queen, but it was only his mother who looked back at him. Her voice was kind as she said, “I would not force you into a loveless marriage.”</p><p>Even as she spoke, Jinwoo took note of the way her advisors looked to her. The Jeonsan diplomat was the only one to fully mask her displeasure: her eyes instead turned upward, and she regarded the ceiling with a wearied patience that Jinwoo knew intimately. He had often worn the same look when he took his dogs on their first hunt. His mother may have offered him a choice, but it was obvious just how important this alliance was for his country.</p><p>His sister had been lucky enough to marry for love. But she must also suffer the eventual entrapment of queendom. He would have his palace, his dogs, his life—this would only add a spouse. And he knew how to be kind.</p><p>“No, Your Majesty,” he answered. “This arrangement would benefit me greatly.” With forced lightness, he added, “And, with this, I shall no longer be Nhaamju’s most eligible bachelor.”</p><p>A small chuckle rose at his words. More warmly, as if needing to reassure him still further, his mother said, “Should you find love beyond your marriage, you’ve a right to a consort. I only ask you treat your spouse with the dignity he deserves.”</p><p>“Do you doubt I would?”</p><p>She snorted, so unlike royalty that Jinwoo was fairly certain he saw several pairs of eyes bulge in their sockets. But his mother recovered her grace swiftly, iron upon her tongue as she retorted, “Mind your cheek!”</p><p>Jinwoo dipped his head into a swift bow to hide the returning grin that formed upon his lips before raising it back up to say gravely, “My apologies, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“They sent along a portrait,” the Yeonsan diplomat said. “I believe Her Graciousness is currently in possession of it.”</p><p>“Of course she is,” Jinwoo murmured to himself. His sister would have been among the first to learn of his potential engagement—and like all eldest siblings, she held a vested interest in what sort of person her brother might marry. Jinwoo simply thought her unashamedly nosy. </p><p>He knew his mother had read his lips, for she raised her eyebrows before saying, “She will want to see her youngest brother, of course. If you are truly accepting of this—?”</p><p>“I am.”</p><p>“Then we shall draft a response and send along one of your own portraits.”</p><p>The reminder of his own bachelor’s painting, crafted to smooth away all of his various flaws, caused Jinwoo to blanch, mouth drawn in a grimace. “Perhaps skip that?” he suggested.</p><p>Again his mother offered him a expression that spoke in place of her sharp tongue, and he hurried to defend himself, saying, “It wouldn’t be fair, Your Majesty. Then he’ll be expecting some giant of a man and I’m… not.” He did not like to acknowledge his lack of height, especially compared to his father and brother, but he also did not think his future spouse would appreciate a marriage founded on dishonesty. “You can describe my titles and accomplishments well enough in the letter you send along, right?”</p><p>The queen clicked her tongue and sat back in her chair. Beside her, one advisor rubbed his palms together and said softly, “His Highness is right, Your Majesty. <em>They</em> have come to us. Surely they will recognize they must take whatever we offer them.” He paused in his speech and abruptly dipped his head toward Jinwoo. “Pardon me, Your Highness.”</p><p>“It’s true enough,” Jinwoo said. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck. It was not a gesture his steward approved of, but the high-collared shirt he wore was beginning to bother him. In truth, he preferred more free-flowing clothes, but such fashions were currently frowned upon in high society.</p><p>Returning his gaze to his mother, he asked, “Am I excused, Your Majesty? Was there anything else?”</p><p>Again his mother matched his look with a hard stare. He could only imagine what she wanted to say. That she was sorry that he must sacrifice his love for their country? That he should act more befitting of his status? But, no, his mother was a woman of strength, and she expected him to reflect that as one of her get. His heart was not so stalwart as hers, but he knew he possessed an unbending nature. He may not weather this coming trial so well as she or his sister might, but he would certainly come through it.</p><p>Jinwoo offered her a small but genuine smile and began his farewells. It was the plight of royalty, that all conversations must be subjected to extensive partings.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jinwoo visited Jihae after he had taken supper.</p><p>She was in the room she most often used when hosting visiting dignitaries. It was styled as a place of business, with two bay windows stood behind a well-loved and time-worn desk that had been part of the family for at least six generations. Along its underside, their brother had once scrawled a penis with wings and then blamed it upon Jinwoo. He had come to know it well in the twenty minutes it had taken him to scrub the offending image off, and he now rested his hand lightly upon it. His sister dug through piles of documents that sat heaped about the room. </p><p>“How did you lose it already?” he asked.</p><p>“I didn’t,” she retorted. “I merely misplaced it.”</p><p>She abandoned the cabinet she had been combing through, shutting its drawer with a hard sound that caused Jinwoo to temporarily tense. She returned to the desk and began to search it. “Heejung came back recently, so I thought I would show her our future brother-in-law.”</p><p>“Has everyone but me seen what he looks like?”</p><p>Jihae paused in her search and tapped her nails on the desk. She hummed for a moment then said, “Mostly, yes. Jun said he looked all right. His wife thought he’d suit you.”</p><p>“And Heejung?”</p><p>Jihae chuckled, eyes crinkling. Like this, she looked nearly his mirror. “Not to her taste.”</p><p>Jinwoo laughed with her. Though Jihae had been courted by both men and women, it had been a visiting dignitary of Yongdu, Cha Heejung, who had won her hand in marriage. Heejung, with a finely-sculpted face and brown eyes that gleamed amber by candlelight, was a startling contrast to her spouse, whose bright smile was often first on the list of her appreciative looks. Their match had been the hot topic of that season, with many quietly wondering what Heejung saw in the crown princess. There were some who had suggested it was merely a desire for prestige, but anyone who saw the couple together was well aware of how Heejung looked toward Jihae as if she had hung the moon and the sun in the sky.</p><p>Heejung had made some concessions toward Jinwoo, on account of how closely he resembled his sister, but toward his elder brother she was nearly frost-like in her regard.</p><p>Jinwoo could easily picture his sister-in-law turning up her nose toward the portrait of his betrothed, distaste evident in the press of her lips.</p><p>“Oh,” Jihae said suddenly.</p><p>Jinwoo cocked his head at her, a questioning noise pushing past his lips as she abruptly stepped away from the desk and headed toward one of the side tables arrayed tastefully in decoration. She reached behind one of the oversized vases stood upon it and withdrew a portrait, small enough that it might be easily carried and stowed by hand but still of a size that its subject could be readily admired and examined.</p><p>“Why there?” Jinwoo asked as he crossed the room to join his sister.</p><p>She looked abashed for a moment, her own eyes skittering off of his to instead regard the desk behind him. “Well,” she said, mouth pursing around the words. “We had wanted to surprise you—but then you had to visit with that woman from Yeonsan, and I might have forgotten I stashed it here.” Sheepishly, she added, “Oops?”</p><p>Jinwoo reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a gusty sigh. His sister had never been especially good at pranks, and for all that Heejung was clever and beautiful (and the pinnacle of womanhood, according to gossipers who had only ever exchanged pleasantries with her and gazed upon her from afar)—well, his sister-in-law was perhaps even worse at tomfoolery. If nothing else, her years of life upon the Isle of Dragons had left her with a skewed sense of humor. Combined, their penchant for mischief was more exasperating than endearing.</p><p>Jihae set the portrait up against the vase, so that they might both look upon it, then stepped back to stand beside him.</p><p>Jinwoo regarded the portrait with a critical eye. He had known, of course, that Yeonsan was a country renowned for its musicians and artists. But the skill with which his husband-to-be had been depicted rivaled even the most celebrated tapestries that hung within the capital’s palace. And the piece was of a quality wholly beyond that of the paintings found within his northern home.</p><p>He did not smile to see the painting. Instead, he considered it quietly. His gaze did not waver even as his sister shifted beside him, her hand rising to rest lightly upon his elbow.</p><p>“He is handsome,” she said at last. “…I think.”</p><p>The admission was enough to crack his countenance, and a small smile rose upon his lips.</p><p>“The type you would expect,” she continued, unmindful of his silence. Theirs was a family naturally prone to languid conversation—it was only the pressure of international correspondence that drove his sister and mother to swifter speech. He was often content to listen to their opinions, for his own were slower to form.</p><p>Jinwoo knew what she meant: the subject of their consideration was possessed of finer features than themselves. The young man’s narrow nose, upturned at the tip, projected an air of haughtiness. And yet this arrogance was eased by the roundness of his eyes, shaded near-black by the painter’s brush and so like a doe’s that Jinwoo felt a sense of peace come upon him as he regarded them in turn. His estimation, as he took in the full mouth, the rounded chin, the stark eyebrows, was that this was a man of an entirely different breed.</p><p>He thought, with a quirk of his lips that his sister mirrored unconsciously, that if stood beside such a specimen, he would look much like a bull terrier contrasted against a windhound.  </p><p>Because his sister was kind, she said only, “I think it will be an interesting match,” before she released his arm and stepped away.</p><p>Jinwoo continued to study the young man in the painting. He knew well that some painters strove to cast their subjects in a kinder light. Jinwoo himself was often depicted taller, with proportions shifted to better match this perception. He wondered if this young man had suffered a similar disturbance to his image. Perhaps he was of a greater weight. Perhaps he possessed smaller eyes, a larger nose, a squarer chin. It was the nature of royalty, that they must appear greater than their individual parts.</p><p>He wondered what the young man had thought as he stood still for such a piece. His expression, as Jinwoo best read it, was one of neutrality: it suggested no weakness, no intention. It was enigmatic in nature, as obscuring as if the young man had donned a veil. The eyes, at least, suggested some hint of kindness. His mouth offered only silence.</p><p>In contrast, Jinwoo had worn a smile in every portrait ever painted of himself.</p><p>With idle fingers, Jinwoo reached out and stroked the canvas, felt the rough texture of dried paint beneath a satin glaze.</p><p>“Have they decided when he’ll come?” his sister asked from behind him.</p><p>He did not turn to regard her, still intent upon the portrait. He traced the young man’s jaw, thinking that his sister must have returned to her desk. It was the sound of her voice, the way it pitched loudest from behind his right ear, near to the bay windows that stood in the back of her study. She would have business to attend to, and he would soon be ushered back to his quarters.</p><p>He would take the portrait with him, of course. He would swaddle it in the same bolt of silk that had protected it during the long journey from Yeonsan to Nhaamju. He would take it back with him, when he returned to the northern palace. And he would look upon it, occasionally, until the day his betrothed arrived and he might lock eyes with the real thing.</p><p>He tapped his fingers to the unspeaking mouth in a silent promise and answered, “Next month. You’ll see him before I, sister.”</p><p>“You’ll be wed at the northern palace?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jinwoo answered. “It’s my—our—home after all.”</p><p>“Congratulations to the happy couple.”</p><p>He could only imagine the little smile she wore as she said it.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Seventeenth Day of the Eighth Month </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-</em>
</p><p>“Well, you could have done worse,” was Myungjun’s frank assessment. He was spread out upon the sofa stood nearest the low table servants had covered with an arrangement of finger foods. He had already sampled every type of cheese and spoke with a mouth half-filled with rye bread and goat’s cream. Despite being a visiting dignitary, he conducted himself with a careless grace and a blunt disregard for manners.</p><p>Seated across from Myungjun, Moon Bin resettled himself, throwing one leg across the other. The feathers threaded through his belt rippled and flashed with the movement, and as he tilted his head to regard their companion, the earpiece he wore clacked quietly. Like Myungjun, he was royalty of another nation—but whereas Myungjun’s country was small and slow to action, Bin’s people reveled in the necessity of strife. He was a warrior through and through, his bared arms adorned with scars and a deep line carved across his throat where a man had once tried to chop his head off.</p><p>They were as different as night and day: Myungjun, diminutive and sly; Bin, dark-eyed and hot-tempered. But they were also Jinwoo’s childhood friends, and so they were afforded the luxury of complacency even so deep in another nation’s territory. Their guards had been stationed outside the room they currently gathered in, and neither showed hesitation in making his opinions known.</p><p>Jinwoo leaned back against his desk as he regarded each in turn. Myungjun had taken news of his betrothal easily—but then, he would. He was not one to speak candidly, for all that his incessant chatter might indicate otherwise. But Bin had a way of wearing his heart on his sleeve, and his silence spoke the entirety of his opinion.</p><p>When Bin did finally give voice to his thoughts, it was to say, “He’s a poet, isn’t he?”</p><p>“I’d assume so,” Jinwoo answered. “Do you know?” he added, looking toward Myungjun. It was something of an open secret amongst his friends that Myungjun’s nation was built upon its contacts—if Nhaamju was a country grown large through merchantry, then Myungjun’s was one uplifted by the collection of its many secrets. And despite being third-born, as Jinwoo was, Myungjun was considered first in line to ascend when his father inevitably stepped down.</p><p>But, even if he had won his position through subterfuge and backstabbing, Myungjun had once been a boy, and it was that boy whom Jinwoo had befriended. It was that boy he trusted, even after the many years had piled upon Myungjun’s shoulders knowledge so dark it was unknown even to Nhaamju’s greatest spymaster.</p><p>Myungjun hummed as he shoved another piece of bread into his mouth. Across from him, Bin was chewing steadily on a piece of jerked venison. Finally, Myungjun shook his head and said, “Not a poet—a musician, I think? Never much cared about Yeonsan, not like they can do much.”</p><p>“It’s unwise to underestimate the enemy,” Bin cautioned. At Myungjun’s answering lopsided grin, he relented, “Well, I guess he won’t be one soon.” He raised one hand to gently scratch at his neck, the scarred flesh rippling beneath his fingers. “Should we bring gifts?”</p><p>“You could.” Jinwoo raised up one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I don’t really know what we would need. Yongtae already has them redoing the master’s quarters so that it connects to the rooms next door.” The reminder made him frown—originally, Jinwoo had settled his sleeping quarters in the wing nearest the kennels. With these new arrangements, he was forced to sleep closer to the center of the palace and farther from his dogs.</p><p>Bin cracked a smile at his change in expression and paused in his scratching to ask, “Not ready to give up the bachelor lifestyle?”</p><p>“It isn’t that,” Jinwoo said.</p><p>“It’s his dogs,” Myungjun said with a laugh. He leaned back on the sofa, tugging a grape free of its vine and tossing it into the air. He caught it easily in his opened mouth and flashed a triumphant smile at Bin and Jinwoo. “Just tell him he’s going to have to share the bed with a couple of friends.” Smile stretching wider, he added wickedly, “Hey, maybe he’s into petplay.”</p><p>“Myungjun,” Bin warned.</p><p>For his part, Jinwoo groaned and raised a hand to hide the smile that threatened to curl up his lips. “You’re in fine form today,” he allowed himself to say at last and was rewarded with an answering grin from Myungjun. Bin simply tore more vigorously at his jerky, his teeth flashing white behind the pale pink of his lips.</p><p>Bin was typically the most playful of them, but he was also the quickest to run cold when they ventured near topics of business. It was considered improper for Myungjun to speak so crudely—and without Eunwoo in the room, it fell upon Bin to ensure Myungjun did not cross into misconduct. No matter how often Jinwoo assured Bin that he would never take offense, the warrior prince was steadfast in his principles.</p><p>“And you’re all right with it?” Bin asked. “Truly?”</p><p>Jinwoo wondered what Bin would say or do if he admitted his reluctance. The man met many of his challenges with the bladed edge of a battle axe, after all. But the bloody battlefield had also lent him a wisdom uncommon in their kind. Jinwoo, with the same hesitation he exhibited when stalking unknown prey, asked, “And if I said I am not?”</p><p>Bin snorted. It was a blunt sound, reminiscent of the same explosive exhalation his black gelding offered when it was made to stable amongst inferior stock. “You can’t decide,” he answered. “A question for a question reeks of indecision.”</p><p>“Wow,” Myungjun breathed out from where he sat. His eyes slid between Bin and Jinwoo, rounded in owl-like alertness. “Bin’s talking smart. It’s a good day.”</p><p>Bin only answered Myungjun’s provocation with a shake of his head, mouth pressed in a firm line. He blew out a gust of air from between his lips and leaned back, arms spreading out along the back of the sofa and showing off the full width of his shoulders.</p><p>“You know history the best of us all,” Bin chastised Myungjun. His voice held little fire to it, and his expression was thoughtful as he turned his head to regard Jinwoo. “We’ve fought wars over lesser issues. If Nhaamju named Yeonsan a threat, then her allies would spring into action. Gwangmun would be the first to strike, and I would spill blood in your name.”</p><p>“I know,” Jinwoo muttered. He dropped his gaze to the floor, the weight of Bin’s gaze too heavy to bear. As Nhaamju’s Huntmaster, he knew too well how easily a body bled. He had found it difficult as a child to take the lives of rabbits, deer, pheasants, and boar. He could not begin to imagine how heavy the axe had lain in Bin’s hands after he had extinguished his first life. It was not the same as snuffing out a candle.</p><p>“I would do it, for you,” Bin continued. “I would split Yeonsan asunder the same way my grandsire tore apart Hwangcheon.”</p><p>“Your tongue wags too easily,” Myungjun cut in.</p><p>Jinwoo remembered to breathe, drawing in so deep a draught that it tickled his throat and threatened a coughing fit. He rested his weight more heavily against his desk, the wood groaning in complaint; it was a testament to its maker that the structure held steady and its legs did not slide across the gleaming tile floor.</p><p>The prick of eyes upon him drew Jinwoo’s head up, and he exchanged a wan smile with Myungjun. Myungjun sat with his arms crossed, one leg thrown carelessly over the other. It was a far cry from the relaxed form he had previously cut, and Jinwoo’s breathing eased as Bin’s eyes tore from him to rest upon Myungjun instead.</p><p>“You would throw decorum at me?” Myungjun tossed his head, chin tilted upward in a pompous display. “Here we are at a tea party—” and here Myungjun gestured toward the feast that had been laid out between them with a brisk wave of his hand “—and you want to talk about war? Guts? Gore? Everyone knows you’re supposed to talk about illicit behavior!” So saying, Myungjun flashed a bright smile and directed his next question toward Jinwoo, “So, who’s going to be the one wearing the collar?”</p><p>Both Bin and Jinwoo choked at the unexpected pivot in conversation. Jinwoo only just managed to stay standing, but Bin fell sideways upon the sofa, so apparently flabbergasted that he gaped silently at Myungjun like a fish.</p><p>Myungjun’s grin spread wider. “Or, I mean, he’s from Yeonsan, so maybe he’ll be into some really fun stuff? Dripping wax, leather restraints—did you know pieces of ice are <em>very</em> good for stimulating certain parts of the body?”</p><p>Jinwoo choked out a wheezing laugh as he sunk down into a crouch, covering his burning face with his hands. He was not adverse to discussions of sex as a general rule, but it was one thing to fantasize after a few drinks had been passed around and something else entirely to have one of his best friends in the privacy of his study—at midday, no less!—talking about how his future spouse might best please him. And he had not even met the Yeonsan prince yet!</p><p>“You can’t just say that!” Bin yelped from where he had collapsed upon the sofa.</p><p>“Why not?” Myungjun asked. “You talk about <em>your</em> conquests all the time.”</p><p>Bin spluttered uselessly for a few seconds before saying, quite resolutely, “It’s <em>Jinwoo</em>!” He shuddered and added, “I’d have an easier time talking about Sua’s paramours.”</p><p>“Oh, how is your dear sister? Still talk about me?”</p><p>“I’ll throw you out that window right now, alliances be damned.”</p><p>“Be good,” Jinwoo said.</p><p>He had finally recovered enough to raise his head up, even if his legs still refused to unbend. His neck felt hot and his ears were probably cherry red beneath his hair, but he was not about to let one of his friends throw the other out the window. Not that Bin ever <em>had</em> despite his many threats, but Jinwoo was not willing to take a chance on today being the day Myungjun’s luck finally ran out.  </p><p>Bin sulked, lips pursed and cheeks puffed out. He made a soft sound of obvious agitation and abruptly snatched up a stray grape, hurtling it at Myungjun. It pinged off the other prince’s shoulder, even as he threw his hands up with a shout of alarm, and Bin sank back into his seat with a self-satisfied smile. He looked so like a tomcat that even Jinwoo found himself smiling, though exasperation kept his expression from growing too large.</p><p>“You’re so childish,” Myungjun said and delicately sniffed—as if he were somehow above the argument. But he swiftly regained his own good cheer and flashed a cheeky smile as he fished the grape free from the folds of his clothes. He raised it up for inspection, made a pleased sound, and tossed it into his open mouth.</p><p>Jinwoo finally forced himself back into a proper standing position as Bin very obviously rolled his eyes. The room’s previous tension had dissolved beneath their petty squabbling, and Jinwoo breathed easily as he watched his friends take turn lobbing grapes into each other’s awaiting mouths.</p><p>He knew he did not fully accept his impending marriage. He did not even know his partner. But Bin was right: Jinwoo’s refusal would affect more than himself, more than his family, more than his nation.</p><p>He pushed himself away from the desk, strode the few steps needed, and plopped down onto the sofa beside Myungjun. He crowded close to his friend, looping one arm around Myungjun’s neck as he faced toward Bin. “Toss one to me,” he said. “Bet I can catch ‘em even better than MJ.”</p><p>“Oh my god, get off me!” Myungjun complained. He pushed half-heartedly at Jinwoo, but Jinwoo simply hooked his arm tighter around Myungjun’s neck and opened his mouth wide in expectation.</p><p>The grape Bin aimed at him landed upon the curl of his tongue, and he immediately snapped his mouth shut, smiling triumphantly as he popped it against the roof of his mouth. “One for me,” he cooed in Myungjun’s ear.</p><p>Myungjun began to slap at him, voice rising as he complained about how Jinwoo’s breath stank and how hard he was holding Myungjun and every other criticism he could leverage.</p><p>“Payback,” Jinwoo said. Myungjun had certainly given him enough grief—it was about time he start returning the favor. He caught Bin’s eyes and beckoned with his free hand.</p><p>“No, no!” Myungjun squalled as Bin rose from his spot, wearing a wicked grin that matched with Jinwoo’s own.</p><p>“Sorry,” Jinwoo said sweetly, “but we’re really doing this for your own good.”</p><p>“Devils! Monsters!” Myungjun’s shrieks continued as the two fell upon him, bursts of laughter cutting through his words as Bin’s fingers dove down upon his ribs.</p><p>With his friends’ laughter ringing in his ears, Jinwoo found it easier to forget that soon he would be wedded to a stranger.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>in an attempt to get back into a writing schedule, i'm going to be posting something new every saturday. sometimes it'll be a oneshot, sometimes it'll be a chapter from one of the wips i'm working on. </p><p><i>anyway</i> welcome to this! i, uh, didn't originally want to put the slow burn tag on it b/c i was comparing it to red hart but then i actually checked the outline for this story, and, well... <i>ugh</i>. (still probs won't be as long as red hart <i>thankfully</i>)</p><p>all the countries depicted are, of course, fictional, with nhaamju being where the bulk of the story takes place. odd numbered chapters will be from jinwoo's point of view, while even numbered chapters will be from sanha's point of view. the big inspiration for this story came from robin mckinley's <i>deerskin</i> and my personal adoration of dogs. </p><p>there's gonna be a lot of dogs. i promise they're coming. </p><p>(also thank you to @offclbinu for checking/suggesting some names. if there's anything weird with the names it's probably something i didn't have them check! LMAO)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Blood</h2></a>
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  <em>Twelfth Day of the Eighth Month </em>
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  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
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  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
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<p>The missive came on a day that had begun overcast and threatened rain throughout the early morn. Sanha had slept through most of it and had awoken only when the deluge had begun, the quiet song of raindrops upon ceramic tile drawing him from his dreams.</p>
<p>He had been greeted by an awaiting attendant and had been bathed and dressed with an urgency that suggested a knowledge he was not yet privy to. It was Yoonji who alerted him to the letter’s arrival as they finished off the last of their rice. She had come shortly before he was served lunch, because she had a knack for knowing when he was to be fed.</p>
<p>Like him, she wore her wealth freely: her black hair brushed to silken perfection, her brows expertly shaped and darkened in the current fashion of the court, her lips painted a maidenly peach. Her only difference from the many men and women who frequented his parents’ halls was this: the powders she wore upon her cheeks and above her eyes always tinted more orange than pink, for she found cherry blossoms to be trite and viewed zinnias as their betters. </p>
<p>Sanha, personally, held little regard for the status of flowers. He thought both pretty enough, though his admirers seemed especially enthusiastic when he tucked a stray blossom in his hair.</p>
<p>But it was not her vibrant blush that drew his eye to her that day. It was the silence she held: a sullen, withdrawn air at odds with her typical exuberance. He waited for the final grain of rice to pass between her lips before asking, in that candid way that caused his fellows to snap that he held no tact, “Did something happen? Between you and the maids, I’m half-expecting to hear my father passed away in the night.”</p>
<p>He cracked a smile as he spoke, but there was some sense of relief that trickled through him at Yoonji’s swift refusal of his suggestion: a shake of her head that sent her perfectly-placed locks flying into manicured disarray.</p>
<p>“No,” she said. She bit at her lower lip, hands clenching in her lap. “Oh, Sanha, a letter from Nhaamju came.”</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>For all that his brothers and Yoonji might accuse him of indelicacy, he knew how to navigate the court. It had been drilled into him since near-infancy. His training overtook him at her words, his heart icing over even as his body continued on. He took up his cup of tea and sipped from it, savoring the floral notes that came through atop a gentle current of bitterness.</p>
<p>He peered down into his cup and repeated more quietly, “Oh.”</p>
<p>Yoonji held her tongue, though her expression said that every moment was one of agony for her.</p>
<p>“How did they answer?” he asked at last. He raised the tea cup once more to his lips and wished they had brewed it hotter; he would have welcomed something burning upon his tongue right then.</p>
<p>“Their ambassador came bearing the letter herself. I saw her but a moment, before several of your father’s courtiers ushered her away, but she seemed—pleased, I think.” Yoonji spoke hesitantly, each word placed as delicately and deliberately as a piece upon a gameboard.</p>
<p>Sanha recognized this was her attempt at kindness. She would arm him with foreknowledge, that he might approach his father’s court with his guard ready. He wished she had not bothered. Now he would carry this with him like a shadow, its weight heavy upon his shoulders. He had to step confidently; the court would take note of any sign of weakness. Especially weakness come from a pawn soon to be ferried away to another country.  </p>
<p>He pressed a smile to his lips, schooled his voice into the same gentle lilt he used during poetry readings, and said, “Thank you, Yoonji.”</p>
<p>His words, stable as they were, returned some color to her face. She bowed her head before rising to give a proper bow. “Of course, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>“Have you other places to be?” he asked.</p>
<p>“Certainly not,” she answered. Her face once more a mask of noble tranquility, she offered her hand to him. “I but wish to escort His Highness to His Most Serene Eminence’s court.”</p>
<p>Sanha only just quelled the unprincely snort that rose at Yoonji’s reference to his father. That she would address him in such a way spoke to the indignant fire that burned within. But she simply smiled at him, and so he allowed her to help him up.</p>
<p>Almost immediately, two attendants hurried to his side. While one gathered up the empty dishes, the other set about fixing his robes, smoothing away nonexistent wrinkles and (with fingers so delicate they felt no stronger than the caress of the sun) touching up his makeup. He pouted his lips willingly, well aware that he had never mastered the art of eating without damage to his lip paint.</p>
<p>“Shall we?” Yoonji asked him when his attendant slipped away.</p>
<p>“A moment,” he answered, and then stood still as the man returned, this time with a round hand mirror. Sanha took it from him, inspecting first his face and then his hair. He briefly pursed his lips when he caught sight of the smallest hint of a shadow beneath his eyes. Even with the powders and paints applied, he could not quite hide that he had stayed awake long past what was considered decent. It had been first his zither and then his poetry, and at last he had sat on the veranda and stared up at the moon and contemplated what marriage would be like.</p>
<p>His mother would know. Gods both high and low grant him succor should his father catch sight of his blemish.</p>
<p>Sanha clicked his tongue, offered Yoonji a lopsided smile, and returned the mirror to his servant with a short murmur of gratitude. “I’m doomed,” he told Yoonji conversationally as they exited his rooms.</p>
<p>“Certainly not,” she was quick to retort. She walked carefully at his side, always a measured half-step behind him—it was not something he approved of, but it was the way of his father’s court. Such a placement made judging her moods difficult, but he suspected he saw a flash of panic flare in her eyes as they turned a corner.</p>
<p>She continued on, “Marriage is always a daunting prospect, but surely Your Highness will be well cared for—.”</p>
<p>“Oh,” he said, cutting her off. “No, I meant my eyes. If my father knows how late I was up, he’ll ensure the entire court knows.”</p>
<p>He did not need to see her to feel the withering stare she leveled at him. Instead, Sanha heard the smallest of huffs issue from her mouth as she resettled her skirts about her. He raised his hand to his face in a gesture of contemplation to turn his small chuckle into a cough.</p>
<p>“Truly, how are we even friends,” Yoonji sighed out at last. There was no venom to her words, and Sanha allowed himself to chuckle more freely as they navigated the palace halls.</p>
<p>They drifted toward the open-air hallways, for neither enjoyed closed spaces. Sanha kept his pace brisk, though he was typically one to linger, finding any and every excuse to come to court late. But, on this journey, he took little note of how the gardens still rippled green, how the yards had been raked to perfection, how the carp in their ponds shimmered with light and flashed with color.</p>
<p>He paused only once: to consider the pavilion he had penned his coming-of-age speech within. Yoonji stopped with him, hands clasped before her and head bowed, for this was a place only those descended of the royal line were allowed within. That she stood with him and spoke not a word was all that kept her safe in that moment, and Sanha allowed himself only a small sigh before continuing on.</p>
<p>Until he had caught sight of it, the true gravity of his situation had not overcome him. But he suddenly realized, with a pain so great it felt as if a needlehad been driven through his heart, that he might never see his homeland again. His mind desperately grasped for solutions, anything that might keep him safely ensconced in Yeonsan and forever outside the borders of Nhaamju.</p>
<p>“Sanha,” came a quiet voice from beside him, and he nearly flinched away from Yoonji, so overcome with despair was he. But he steadied himself, looking down into her dark eyes and finding reassurance there.</p>
<p>“It’s all right,” she murmured. Delicately, with fingers that trembled, she reached up to touch his face.</p>
<p>Her hand warm upon his cheek, she said, “It will be all right. You may think yourself alone, but we will all support you. And you will write to me. You will tell me immediately if anything is amiss. Should he strike you or hurl obscenities at you or treat you with anything less than the respect you deserve—you will write to me and tell me, and I will come for you.”</p>
<p>Sanha managed a small smile at her conviction. <em>Would that I could believe that</em>, he thought. But he nodded his head, and whatever she read in his eyes must have been enough, for Yoonji released him, though her expression remained dubious.</p>
<p>He wished he could have returned a smile to her face, but it was struggle enough to keep himself presentable.</p>
<p>“And now, unto the wolves,” he said as they approached the doors that led into the central hall. The two guards stood on duty dipped into bows as they approached, and one of the heralds hurried forward to announce their arrival.</p>
<p>“Quoting Kim Woojin?” Yoonji whispered back. “Was he not killed in enemy territory, stripped naked, and returned to the kingdom upon a donkey cart?”</p>
<p>“All the more reason to recite his work.”</p>
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<p>Within the antechamber stood directly behind his father’s central hall, Sanha resettled uneasily against the pillar he had taken up position beside. His second-eldest brother stood near him while the crown prince sat beside their father and mother. Kim Chaewon of Nhaamju, the liaison between their nations, laid out Nhaamju’s conditions for the approval of an alliance between it and Yeonsan.</p>
<p>After a day at court, Sanha had to fight hard against the drowsiness that crept over him. The gloom of the room did little to help his fatigue, for the sun had long since dipped beneath the earth, and only the glow cast from lanterns hung with care provided light.</p>
<p>But he was not so weary that he missed just how excited the Nhaamju ambassador was. It was not something easily recognized by outsiders, but after years at his father’s court, Sanha took notice of how swiftly she spoke, how her teeth flashed with every word past her lips. She did not smile, but even to Sanha’s tired eyes, she was a far different sight from the cool, almost laconic woman who had first proposed he be offered as a husband to the youngest of the Park family. </p>
<p>His mother and father had fought for him, of course. They had fought so fiercely, Jeha had feared they would cause offense and the crown prince of Gwangmun would storm the gates and tear asunder five centuries’ worth of history with hands that knew only the weight of war. Junha had suggested (with a tone that bordered on insubordination, for his father and mother were yet still king and queen) that such a fate was far kinder than a poison that crept through their veins and bloomed death in the middle of night. That, he had warned, would come from Joryeong.</p>
<p>And Kim Chaewon had looked toward Sanha, and he had been forced to lie and say he would do it and do it gladly, for Yeonsan was alone against the might of Nhaamju. Even the Isle of Dragons overlooked their plight, and decades without war had seen their navy scatter into boats of pleasure and people of leisure.</p>
<p>It had been him or the whole of his country. He was not so spoiled as to beg a war with another country, no matter how his elder brothers might tease him.</p>
<p>But that had been before. Now, he only closed his eyes and bowed his head obediently as the visiting dignitary laid out the terms Nhaamju had written. Many of their requests were as expected, and they showed no interest in attempting to install a puppet king within the borders of Yeonsan. With his eyes shut, Sanha heard his father’s gentle exhalation—a sigh of relief, that he would not have to fight for his crown.</p>
<p>“But what is he <em>like</em>?” came his mother’s voice, and the sound of it was so unexpected that Sanha’s eyes opened once more of their own accord.</p>
<p>The ambassador showed little response to his mother’s interruption; she only quirked her lips in a smile that seemed almost mocking and pivoted into a lecture on the third prince of Nhaamju.</p>
<p>“His Royal Highness Park Jinwoo holds the titles Lord of the Hunt and Master of Hounds, given to him by Her Majesty upon his twentieth birthday several years ago. He governs the northern province of Namudo. His palace has been referred to as ‘The House of the Wind’ for the dogs he breeds.”</p>
<p>Sanha noted that she was careful in her words. Though his mother had asked for clarification on the prince’s personality, the ambassador spoke only information that was found on the tip of every bard’s tongue.</p>
<p>“Surely,” he began—and he knew even as he spoke that he should not have, but he wished to know <em>something</em>—“surely, you are not barred from offering your personal opinion in this instance. Would you say he is kind?”</p>
<p>Kim Chaewon held his gaze for a long second. He stood tall before her inspection; he was too learned in the ways of the court not to recognize a challenge. And he knew that if he did not meet her eye, he would lose this battle and thus lose any information he might have gained about his soon-to-be-husband.</p>
<p>When she closed her eyes in a measured blink, Sanha knew he had won.</p>
<p>“You would think him kind,” she answered. “Kind and ignorant, but that is why they would marry you to the third prince. In his domain, all your political power will be washed away. He will take you, and he will treat you earnestly and respectfully. And even if you should hate him and conspire to kill him, it will all be for naught, for his death will grant you a despair greater than you have ever known.”</p>
<p>“You would threaten one of my own?” The king’s voice was dangerously soft. The footmen that stood along the walls shifted, unease rippling through them.</p>
<p>The ambassador regarded Sanha’s father coolly. Her eyes were as unknowable as the ocean, as deep and dark as the night sky bereft of its moon. “I do not threaten, Your Eminence. I believe your son will be happy. Nhaamju could easily have turned down this proposal or slighted you and your son by offering the hand of a lord or lady instead. I said His Highness would think the prince kind and ignorant, but His Highness would only think so because he knows naught but the language of the court.”</p>
<p>Kim Chaewon cut her eyes toward Sanha and said flatly, “The House of the Wind will not bow to a master who speaks only of moonlit ponds and starry-eyed maidens. The prince will be your one ally until you have proven yourself. Do not make an enemy of him in your haste to decry your circumstances.”</p>
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<p>
  <em>Twenty-second Day of the Eighth Month </em>
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  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
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  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
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<p>The ambassador’s words followed Sanha in the weeks that followed.</p>
<p>He had never thought to be cruel to his husband, but he had also never thought of Park Jinwoo as a potential ally. The youngest prince of Nhaamju had not put forth the idea of marriage, but Sanha had nevertheless come to think of him as the perpetrator behind it. The same blood that made his sister seek only the companionship of women had doubtlessly been passed to him as well, and it was this link the ambassador had exploited in the construction of their alliance.</p>
<p>Of course, Yeonsan was no stranger to lovers of the same sex, but such relationships were kept behind closed doors for the royal family. They were never pushed to the front of the court with so heavy a title as “husband” or “wife”. Theirs was the realm of consorts and courtesans. Such relationships made it hard for him to think of his upcoming marriage as a union of equals. It felt more akin to the passing of a caged bird to its new owner.</p>
<p>Unbidden, Sanha’s fingers tapped out an impatient staccato on the windowsill. He did not like to wait; without someone stood before him, his thoughts had a way of overtaking every part of him. He dismissed thoughts of what his father’s court now said of him—after all, whatever words they might whisper, he was not there to hear them. Perhaps he would never be there again.</p>
<p>“Your Highness,” came a quiet voice from behind him, and he turned to look upon one of the three servants that had accompanied him to Nhaamju’s capital city. She was a small slip of a creature, but Sanha had seen her carry a stack of boxes nearly so tall as she with all the ease of a woman ushering in her newest knitting. He knew by her appearance that she must have once served a lady-in-waiting or a minor courtier, for she presented herself as those of the court had.</p>
<p>She was easily marked as one of his own, because she (like him) was dressed in Yeonsan clothing. It was his one vanity: that he wave the banner of his people proudly. It also brought him comfort. Each of his family had stitched a small token or charm along the inner seam of his robe, that he might always carry them close to his heart.</p>
<p>She was watching him now, and Sanha stared back at her until her name finally rose to the forefront of his mind. “Mistress Jiyeong?”</p>
<p>“Pardon my interruption, but I—” she hesitated, and only continued on when he offered her a smile, “—I only wondered if you are nervous.”</p>
<p>Sanha’s smile did not slip, but it twisted into an expression of bemusement, as he answered, “Would you not be? Even if she is to be my future sister-in-law, she is also the future ruler of this kingdom.” And then, because Jiyeong had gone pale, he added, “But thank you for asking. The time passes more easily if we talk.”  </p>
<p>“I would not presume,” Jiyeong said weakly.</p>
<p>“And yet it seems a common enough phenomenon here,” Sanha answered, his eyes crinkling in modest amusement. It was too easy to imagine his old tutor smacking his lips around his pipe in agitation before finally spitting out that it was solely because Nhaamju were uncultured barbarians, northern bastards who couldn’t scrub the coin grease from their veins, no matter how prettily they dressed and how kindly Yongdu looked upon them.</p>
<p>But, Sanha thought fondly, that was just how Old Jongsoo was. He missed the bitter old man, who had offended Sanha’s mother more than a few times with his grasp of language so colorful it set even the eunuchs to giggling.</p>
<p>Jiyeong cut her eyes to the side and raised a hand to her mouth, coughing delicately into it. “I would not seek to emulate them, Your Highness,” she admitted quietly.</p>
<p>“But we must, if we are to live here.” Sanha raised his shoulders in a careless shrug at the flicker of distaste that ran across his servant’s face before she smoothed it away. “So the wind blows, so the reed bends, that it may yet raise another day,” he recited.</p>
<p>He considered the words he had said, then added, “It should probably be ‘rise’.”</p>
<p>“I would not know, Your Highness,” Jiyeong said. “It is not a poem I am familiar with.”</p>
<p>A small laugh burst from between Sanha’s lips, bright and clear. He smiled at Jiyeong. “You wouldn’t be! I came up with it when I was twelve. I had nothing better to do in between etiquette lessons. It’s terrible, isn’t it? Absolutely no feeling at all.”</p>
<p>She was not given a chance to answer, for it was then that a knock came from the door that led into the room they stood in. Momentarily, Sanha met Jiyeong’s eyes as a man’s voice announced, “Her Graciousness Park Jihae, Crown Princess, and Her Lady Cha Heejung, Princess-Consort, have arrived.”</p>
<p>Without another word, Jiyeong dropped into a low bow, arms folded before her, and slowly stepped back until she stood against a wall. Sanha also dipped into a bow, though his was much shallower than his servant’s—had he not been set to wed Jihae’s brother, he would not have been so bold, but he knew better than to needlessly grovel. Kim Chaewon had informed him that the Nhaamju people cared little for excessive flattery.</p>
<p>From where he stood, Sanha was just able to make out the form of the footman ushering in two women. And then there came a voice, rich and warm and pitched deeper than he had expected, “Oh, please, do not stand on formality with me!” and Sanha drew himself back up with open curiosity upon his face.</p>
<p>The woman who had spoken was the shorter of the two, though she was not so diminutive as Jiyeong and taller still than Yoonji. He thought she must be Park Jihae, for she was bare-faced and almost plain beside the beauty that stood at her side. Though his eyes begged him to gaze upon Cha Heejung, he kept his gaze firmly planted upon his future sister. When she smiled at him, he found his lips rising to match her expression.</p>
<p>“Hello there,” she said. “You must be Sanha.”</p>
<p>He did not see it, but Heejung must have done <em>something</em>, for Jihae abruptly turned to her wife and said, “He’ll be family soon enough, I can greet him informally.” Her voice was gently chiding, and she rolled her eyes at Sanha, clearly inviting him to join her in her mild exasperation.</p>
<p>“Is that all right with you?” Heejung asked Sanha.</p>
<p>Sanha answered, “Yes, of course,” though in truth he wondered if he could refuse. After all, this was the crown princess—even if she had not been his future sister-in-law, there was nothing stopping her from behaving as she pleased in the capital of her own nation. But he was quick to discard such thinking; Jihae showed the same mild personality his eldest brother did. She wore her power comfortably, and she was making an effort to induct him into her family before the wedding had even occurred.</p>
<p>Heejung tilted her head, showing off a neck that stretched long and thin behind a waterfall of hair that draped across her shoulder like silk. Her lips pinched together in an expression that would have made a lesser woman look homely, and Sanha wondered how many romanticists had penned odes to the curl of her eyes and the point of her chin. He did not think he would, but that was only because his lessons in aesthetics had always centered upon the overwhelming beauty of nature. Had he ever thought to wax poetic on a woman, Heejung would certainly be his subject of choice.</p>
<p>“Then shall we take our seats?” Jihae asked, undaunted by the way Heejung sized Sanha up. He did not fear this woman from Yongdu, for all that she might be kin to the Dragon Kings—but he had been so focused upon her beauty that when Jihae spoke, he momentarily startled, almost jumping as his eyes swung back onto the crown princess.</p>
<p>Jihae continued to smile at him politely and said, “You were staring.”</p>
<p>Immediately, heat bloomed underneath Sanha’s skin. He fought down the urge to disagree, knowing that it would only cement whatever she thought. “Yes,” he said, “but I think most people do.”</p>
<p>Jihae nodded, still patient in her regard of him—but Heejung was obviously unimpressed, her mouth drawn still tighter, the tilt of her head almost arrogant as she watched him.</p>
<p>“I apologize for my rudeness,” he continued on. “I just thought that Her Ladyship must have many admirers. I wondered if I would also write poetry in her name.”</p>
<p>“And would you?” Heejung’s voice was flat.</p>
<p>“No,” Sanha answered. “I think I might find greater inspiration in the flight of a bird, for all that Her Ladyship’s hair gleams like a crow’s wing.”</p>
<p>“Then I shall not tell my dearest brother that his husband-to-be was staring at my wife.” Jihae said with a laugh.</p>
<p>Sanha dropped into a bow, murmuring thanks, and when he arose once more, he saw that her smile had smoothed out. It no longer carried the promise of reprisal.</p>
<p>“But come,” Jihae continued. “We’ll discuss more pleasant things once we’ve sat.”</p>
<p>Sanha moved as she indicated, settling himself upon a loveseat that faced a nearby sofa. Heejung followed his example and Jihae sat last of all; had they been in Yeonsan, such an order would have been reversed.</p>
<p>“How have you found the capital?” Jihae asked almost as soon as she had sat down. The smile upon her face grew softer as she leaned into Heejung, her wife wrapping an accommodating arm around her waist. “I had wanted to take you on a tour, but we can’t officially introduce you to the public until you’ve married into the family. Politics, you know.”</p>
<p>“I have never seen its like,” Sanha said. He wished that he had a cup of tea that he might hide behind, but he was not quite so bold as to openly request a drink in the presence of his future in-laws. “I must admit, I did not have any true expectations on what your city might look like, but it has surely surpassed even my wildest imaginations.</p>
<p>Privately, he found himself somewhat discomforted by how closed-off the palace was. He had been able to find only a handful of grass-laden courtyards, and none possessed the wild beauty that had so dappled his father’s court. What he had seen of the city itself had been brief glimpses through the window of his carriage, but he had thought it grey and gloomy. Even the Golden Highway, spun brilliant and gleaming in all the stories he had heard, had seemed a dull, dismal thing to his eyes.</p>
<p>A pang of homesickness struck him as he recalled just how bright Yeonsan had been.</p>
<p>Knowing that he must not linger on these feelings, Sanha said, “But, if I may ask, what is the northern palace like?” He had heard many words said on the capital of Nhaamju, but what information he had on Namudo was lacking.</p>
<p>Jihae smiled at his question, and Heejung took on an expression of contemplation.</p>
<p>“Between us,” Heejung began, “I have spent the greater amount of time in Prince Jinwoo’s province. It borders Gwangmun and is a mountainous, wild land. If you truly do prefer the glimpse of a crow over the sight of a woman, then I believe you will find it more beautiful than the capital.”</p>
<p>“Terrible winters, though,” Jihae interjected. She shivered as she said it and briefly pressed against Heejung as if in search of warmth. “That’s part of the reason this arrangement has moved so fast, I think. My brother’s people know how to handle Namudo’s weather, but the rest of us are not so studied.”</p>
<p>“Though I’m sure His Highness will provide for it, seek out a tailor specializing in winter clothing when you arrive,” Heejung said. “As for the palace itself—it is obviously not so grand as ours, but it need not be. It curls around like a horse’s shoe and possesses western, eastern, and northern wings.”</p>
<p>“And there are dogs,” Sanha said, wearing a wry smile. That was the only consistent information he had heard, again and again: that Prince Park Jinwoo was partial to his dogs and that they could well run the palace themselves. “I’ve heard they are so large, they run down bears.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no,” Jihae answered with a laugh, as if the very notion was absurd. Sanha had just begun to relax, when she continued, “Jinwoo’s dogs are too fragile for that sort of work. Some other handlers breed bear dogs, though. They almost look like little cubs themselves.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Sanha said.</p>
<p>He knew something of hunting, but it was not a favored sport of his father’s court and thus not counted among the many activities he had participated in. History told him it had been popular in his great-grandfather’s time, but his grandfather had hated hounds, and so it had been besmirched as something only lesser nobles took part in. He had met many a lapdog in his life and a few village mutts whose ancestry ran as muddied as the water they drank from, but he had never seen a proper hound.</p>
<p>He looked down at his hands, curled up in his lap, and tried not to feel overwhelmed by his own ignorance.</p>
<p>“You’ll like Jinwoo’s dogs, I’m sure,” Jihae said. “They’re very polite, good-tempered animals. And the wedding—!” She clapped her hands together, her smile brightening. “I’ve heard the main dessert will be a gorgeous lemon and elderflower cake.”</p>
<p>“Strictly speaking,” Heejung said, “it is more ceremony than wedding. You will be expected to say a few words, the queen will bless your union, there will be a free period during which you may mingle, and then there shall be the banquet. Once the banquet has ended, you will be expected to see off your many guests, and then you may retire to the bedroom with your spouse.”</p>
<p>“Politics,” Jihae put in. The smile that had sat upon her face since she had first entered the room had finally faded shrunk down into a small, sad thing.</p>
<p>Sanha could only wonder if she pitied him or her brother.  </p>
<p>“I would hope,” she said, sounding unsure, “that you two could become friends. I would never hope for you to love him, or for him to love you, but I think if you could like each other and smile at each other—that would be enough.”</p>
<p>“You’re kind,” Sanha said. He wondered if his brothers had thought the same when his engagement had been announced. They had never spoken to him about it—but he had also never sought out their counsel and had instead done his best to ignore his impending marriage until the day arrived for him to leave Yeonsan. Regret for what could have been lodged in his throat like a stone, and he swallowed heavily.</p>
<p>Again, Jihae smiled at him, one hand interlocking with Heejung’s, squeezing it so tightly that Sanha thought it must hurt, and said, “It is all I can be in circumstances such as these.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>First Day of the Ninth Month </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Before the ceremony, Sanha had caught sight of his fiancé only once. It had been after he had newly arrived to the palace and been politely but firmly informed that his husband-to-be was an incredibly busy man and that ill fortune was said to be visited upon those who met in the week before their wedding was held.</p>
<p>He had been sat within the antechamber just outside his bedroom, zither spread upon his lap as he worked his fingers through the strings, checking each note it produced. He had worried over it, since it had traveled separately from him from Yeonsan to Nhaamju and then into Namudo—but it had been treated with obvious care, and he had sighed with relief and set it aside before directing his gaze out a nearby window.</p>
<p>He had seen the man he thought might be his betrothed then.</p>
<p>He could only assume it was Park Jinwoo, for the figure had been flanked by a pair of dogs that rose nearly to mid-thigh. He had watched the trio follow a tramped-down path in the grass, one dog’s head lowered to sniff along the ground even as the other followed its master obediently. Sanha had tracked their progress as they circled the eastern wing of the palace and had ultimately lost them when they had turned the far corner and disappeared behind it.</p>
<p>At the time, Sanha had found himself frustrated—that he could not meet his eventual spouse even <em>once</em> did nothing to settle his nerves. But now, as he awaited his cue to step forward and stand beside the priest from Yongdu, he thought he could easily never see Park Jinwoo’s face. His stomach twisted in the pit of his abdomen, so like an animal trapped in a cage that it took every ounce of willpower he possessed to not simply vomit then and there.</p>
<p>Sanha moved forward without feeling when he was beckoned, focused only on keeping his face smooth. Beneath his skin lay only tumultuous waves and screaming winds, but he would not dishonor his family and his country.</p>
<p>Though he could barely hear the words of the Yongdu priest, Sanha knew immediately when Park Jinwoo had arrived. His husband’s footsteps seemed to ring nearly so loudly as the thunder of hoofbeats; Sanha bit into his lip, the only sign of weakness he would allow himself, when someone appeared in the corner of his vision. He did not look to his right, though every part of his body screamed at him to do so, instead focusing on the Yongdu priest with a single-mindedness he had lacked in the lessons of his tutors.</p>
<p>He knew something of what the man said: that he must be good to his spouse, that the renewal of so ancient an alliance would bring joy to the eastern kingdoms. He had been told in exacting detail how his wedding would play out—with the expectation that he would not deviate from the script provided.  </p>
<p>Because Sanha knew everything that would occur, he did not flinch or startle when the Yongdu priest withdrew a knife from his robes. Instead, he turned to finally, <em>finally</em> face the man he would spend the rest of his life with—and was surprised to find himself looking down, into a face that carried a hint of anxiety: brows drawn together and mouth set in an uneasy line.</p>
<p>He had expected—what had he expected?—a man taller than he, perhaps, with a rough face and an unkind stare, because he had built up an image in his mind using the woodsmen and hunters that had rarely visited his father’s court. But he saw now that Park Jinwoo was of the same fine breeding as his sister; he was not handsome in a way that Sanha could immediately recognize, but there was a quality to his face that soothed Sanha’s agitation. He suddenly found it easier to breathe, and he managed a small smile at his husband-to-be as the priest took hold of his hand.  </p>
<p>In a single, smooth motion, the priest sliced through Sanha’s hand with the knife, leaving behind a wound that was long but shallow. It had cut only deep enough to draw blood. Sanha kept his eyes on Jinwoo, and so he saw when Jinwoo’s eyes dropped down to Sanha’s injured hand. Jinwoo licked his lips, took his lower lip between his teeth—and then abruptly he was staring directly into Sanha’s eyes, and Sanha’s gaze skittered onto the priest.</p>
<p>He did not think Jinwoo’s eyes especially notable (beyond their small size, perhaps)—but there had been a clarity to them that had forced Sanha to glance away. Unwilling to look at Jinwoo, he instead watched the priest cut through Jinwoo’s hand.</p>
<p>With both their hands oozing blood, the priest had an attendant come up to receive the knife. It was wrapped reverently in a white handkerchief and ushered away. Then, the priest took hold of both their hands, and Sanha braced himself, knowing that what would follow would hurt.</p>
<p>He heard Jinwoo hiss in barely-suppressed pain as their palms were pressed together, the priest’s grip almost vice-like as he ground the open wounds against each other to ensure the blood would mix. Sanha was sure he whimpered, but it was lost beneath the priest’s speech. He knew the priest was speaking on how their houses were thusly united, tied together by blood, but the only thing he could think about was how solid Jinwoo’s hand was against his own. His wound throbbed hotly, so much so that it felt as if they had pressed their hearts together.</p>
<p>When they separated, the sensation stayed with Sanha.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos and just in general showing interest for my dumb baby rarepair ♥</p>
<p>(ngl very proud of myself for having them actually meet in chapter two and not chapter... six. its the little things in life.)</p>
<p>the ceremony (along with the rest of the wedding day) will be concluded from jinwoo's pov. :&gt; <s>(<span class="small">sanha too busy staring at his hand rn</span>)</s></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Matrimony</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Enjoy two people trying to figure out how to talk to each other. Mistakes are made.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>First Day of the Ninth Month </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>-</em></strong>
</p><p>The day of the wedding was a crisp and cold affair. To Jinwoo, the promise of winter was heavy upon the winds, its scent one he had learned to read in the years he had spent in Namudo. He had tapped his fingers against the balustrade he leaned against as he surveyed the northern palace’s grounds (quiet and untouched, but soon to be swollen with the many guests coming from the south), intent on everything <em>but</em> the ceremony that would be taking place that afternoon.</p><p>His morning was spent in what was, for once, the quietest place he could find: the dog kennels. Most of the handlers had been relieved of their duties for the day, and some had chosen to return home to their families while others loitered waiting for the wedding. The ones who had stayed worked as a skeleton crew: men and women who cared more for their hounds than anything else.</p><p>He felt relaxed as he labored alongside them, pausing only once as he went through the slow and steady process of taking each dog out to relieve itself and stretch its legs. He took time to release Mina, but when he passed Yuri’s stall, he could only lean over the wooden door, smooching at her and stroking her silken ears until she grew tired of his affections and moved to the back of her pen. She practically threw herself down into the corner, with all the theatrics he had come to expect during her heats.</p><p>The sight was still enough to bring a smile to his face, and he said, “None of that.”</p><p>She only sighed heavily, as if his very existence was a burden upon her, and turned away to more fully face the wall. Though she had assumedly caught in her most recent breeding, Jinwoo was not willing to let her out until the remnants of her heat died away.</p><p>That was all he needed, really: to have a dog fight break out just a few hours before he was set to get married. So, though it pained him to not have one of his favorite hounds by his side, he kept Yuri locked up.</p><p>Mina briefly brought her nose over the door to sniff loudly at her sister before snorting and trotting away from Jinwoo, prompting him to bid Yuri farewell. Unlike Jinwoo, she cared little for whether Yuri came along or not.</p><p>Jinwoo laughed a little and said, “That’s just mean, Mina,” before following after her.</p><p>Though Jinwoo took every dog out at least once, it was Mina he kept by his side even as the carriages began to arrive. He trusted her not to chase after the men and women who spilled from them, and though she did glance at times toward the high-prancing horses, it was only ever to turn back to Jinwoo with a disgruntled look, her delicate ears cocked back in dismay.</p><p>They skirted the front yard of the palace, where the bulk of the guests would come through, instead picking their way along a well-worn trail that dove off from the western side. It ran up a grass knoll and came down into the beginning of the queenswood: a sprawling forest that began at the base of the nearest mountain and stretched almost to the palace.</p><p>The sight of the woods, quietly thrumming with life, made Jinwoo bite his lip and place his hands upon his hips. They were right at the start of hunting season—a time when Jinwoo would have been riding forth everyday to count prey populations, survey key sites, and prepare for the influx of nobility that would travel northward to bag a bear or an elk or a boar. Instead, he had been forced to spend most of his time learning how to best behave himself at a wedding and navigate the intricacies of designated seating: ensuring that no family was shafted or ignored or placed beside a person they found disreputable. And then there had been the details specific to the day itself, because he was the lord of the province and so was expected to speak at certain intervals throughout the ceremony and the banquet and the evening party during which his guests would slowly trickle out.</p><p>And—and his mother could not come. She was not <em>allowed</em> to come. His father was not either, but that did not concern him as much because his father could visit in the weeks that followed. His mother was confined to the capital, though, and they would only meet when he and his spouse traveled south to announce their marriage to the general public.</p><p>Jinwoo understood the politics of it (and he did so hate that word, for it had entrapped him even in boyhood), but that did not change the fact that he was being married, and he had hoped to see his mother there. Instead, because it was believed that having the queen preside over such an event might suggest Yeonsan an equal to Nhaamju, Jihae would act in the queen’s stead as was her responsibility as crown princess.</p><p>If there was any happiness to be found in this, it was that his brother Junyoung would come and bring with him his wife and their child.</p><p>Jinwoo settled himself down in the grass, staring down the hill at where the queenswood began. Mina continued to stand beside him, her head level with his as she stared hard at the forest. From the tense lines that made up her body, Jinwoo could only assume that she had caught sight of a hare or a squirrel—but she was too well-trained to race off without permission given, and at last she flopped down onto the ground beside Jinwoo with a sigh so heavy it made him laugh.</p><p>“You sound like your sister,” he told her, reaching over to stroke the top of her head. She rolled one brown eye to look at him but otherwise did not react. “If I let you, you’d come back with blood all over you. If you were darker, maybe I’d allow it—but we don’t have time to bathe you, and I’m sure half the audience would be scandalized to see you walking around like a butcher.” But, because he understood her desires, he added, “Later,” and laughed when her response was to sigh again and lie her head upon the grass.</p><p>Together they watched the world awaken around them. It was with some regret that Jinwoo at last stood up, brushing down his clothes before reaching over to do the same for his dog. She had begun to chew at grass shortly before he stood, and Jinwoo offered her a wry smile as he carefully picked pieces of torn shoots off her black lips. She panted but stood patiently beneath his busy hands, only closing her mouth gently around his wrist when he swept his hand down her left flank to brush away clinging debris.</p><p>“Do not,” he warned her. But he did so without any great venom, for he knew she had always been especially shy of touches around her hindquarters. She released his hand and stood still after that; only her flattened ears indicated how disgruntled she was by his actions.</p><p>Jinwoo removed his hands when Mina once more looked respectable. Her coat was surprisingly resistant against all elements of nature, but he knew she would still need a good brushing later. Normally, it would have been his duty, as she was his—but obligation to his soon-to-be spouse meant that he must entrust it to his kennelmaster.</p><p>Instead of the meandering trail he had led her on as they traveled to just outside the queenswood, Jinwoo instead plunged straight through the grass. He headed toward the kennels with strides as great as his legs were capable of, suddenly desirious to be done with the wedding (and thusly his spouse, though he did not like so unkind a thought) so that he might return to his work as Master of the Hunt. Perhaps it was the crush of carriages he saw that brought about this bundle of nerves, but his stomach refused to settle.</p><p>When he came face-to-face with Kim Sungmin, he wore something like a grimace.</p><p>His kennelmaster (and right-hand-man in all things concerning the hounds he kept) swept his eyes over Jinwoo’s form before turning to regard Mina who snuffled sweetly at his hand, seeking a treat. Sungmin leaned back on his heels, letting one hand settle upon his hip, and said with a grin that stretched the scars upon his face until they turned pale, “That sad you’re off the market, Your Princeness? Don’t be—I wasn’t interested in your scrawny ass.”</p><p>The confession drew an open-mouthed gape from Jinwoo before he began to laugh. “It isn’t scrawny!” he shot back, feeling his cheeks inflame. Beside him, Mina yawned and sat down, uninterested in the way her master flustered.</p><p>“Ain’t a peach I can bite, now issit?” Sungmin retorted.</p><p>“I don’t want you to!”</p><p>“Oh?” Sungmin drawled, still wearing his lascivious grin. “You saying you don’t keep me around for my good looks?”</p><p>“Hardly,” Jinwoo said. Though he wanted to duck away from Sungmin’s teasing, he reluctantly held still when Sungmin reached out and tousled his hair. He could almost hear his servants screaming as his hair fell into disarray, but Sungmin’s touch chased away some of the snakes that had nested in his belly.</p><p>He found he smiled more easily.</p><p>He knew, of course, that such dialogue between he and a commoner would have been frowned upon. But then Sungmin’s very existence by his side was something that had drawn backlash from his mother’s advisors when he had first hired Sungmin, and he had been forced to fight for the man for years until upper society reluctantly turned their attention to scandals they might actually overturn.</p><p>It was hard to believe that once upon a time his kennelmaster had been a petty thief, one whose hand had been saved only because Jinwoo’s sister had implemented an alternative path criminals might take after being sentenced. Like many other men and women, Sungmin had signed up to take on a hard job in exchange for a lessening of his sentence. At the time, Jinwoo had been newly come to Namudo and willing to take on whatever project his sister gave him in hopes that he might ask for favors of his own later on.</p><p>He had been lucky, of course. Not all criminals had taken to his sister’s idea, and Jinwoo had been forced to attend three executions in his province alone. But Sungmin had, for whatever reason, found an affinity with hounds, and he had learned alongside Jinwoo under the previous Houndmaster. Now he held a position typically bequeathed to young lords and ladies with enough influence in the province to prove valuable.</p><p>“Lucky dog,” Sungmin told Mina. He had knelt down before her and now gently played with her using a scrap of leather. The hound held it fast between her front teeth, soft rumbles of mock ferocity spilling from between her clenched jaws. “Daddy has work to do tonight, so you get the bed all to yourself.”</p><p>“If I even take her to my rooms,” Jinwoo said.</p><p>Sungmin tugged the leather, and Mina redoubled her efforts against his, head shaking a bit as she tried to draw the strained skin loose of his grip. “How cruel,” Sungmin cooed at her. “He’d actually keep you locked in the kennels two nights in a row!”</p><p>To Jinwoo, he added, “She’ll howl, you know,” his eyes still focused on Mina. “If she’d taken her dam’s coloring, I’d call her your shadow. Instead she’s more like your ghost.”</p><p>“I spoiled her,” Jinwoo admitted. “But you’re right. Tell Yongtae to take her there after the banquet, next time you see him.”</p><p>“Good luck, Your Princeness.” Sungmin finally released the strap of leather, and Mina shook it in celebration before dropping it.</p><p>“Hopefully I won’t need it,” Jinwoo answered with a smile. Then he clicked his tongue and led Mina deeper into the palace.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jinwoo had attended his sister’s wedding and then his brother’s, but both had been marriages arranged within the nation itself, without the outside influence of another country. Heejung had given up her ties to Yongdu willingly, and Jun’s wife Soomin had been from a family whose roots stretched deep through Nhaamju history. For Jinwoo and his betrothed, there was none of the gaiety that had surrounded his siblings’ weddings. Instead, something somber wrapped around the air, making it hang heavy.</p><p>Jinwoo had so rankled at the thought of his own freedom stripped away, that it was only upon the dais, stood in the center of the hall he would be wed in, that he was suddenly struck with the thought of what his betrothed must feel. He had never seen Sanha, aside from the portrait that even now stood at attendance by his bed, and so it had been easy to think the Yeonsan prince as only a living manacle.</p><p>But now, with the ceremony drawn so near, he wondered how his fiancé felt. Something like pity pierced his heart, and he placed his hand upon Mina’s head. She had followed him as he was fed and bathed and clothed, and now she only leaned against his leg in solidarity as he took in the true size of the responsibility placed upon him.</p><p>His hound abruptly stiffened. The sudden tension that flooded her body was enough to draw Jinwoo from his thoughts, and he turned his gaze toward the hall’s entrance. He recognized the figure easily enough and soothed Mina’s agitation with a few strokes upon her head.</p><p>“Kang Sebin,” he greeted the approaching priest. He was a man whom Jinwoo was well-acquainted with. He had served as officiant to both Jihae’s and Junyoung’s weddings and, while not especially friendly, was a man whom Jinwoo held no ill feelings toward.</p><p>Of course, most would say, it was more difficult to find a man whom Jinwoo <em>did</em> dislike.</p><p>“Your Highness,” Sebin responded with a short dip of his head. He walked with his hands clasped behind him, each step slow and measured as he stepped up onto the platform to stand beside Jinwoo. With a soft grunt, Mina repositioned herself with Jinwoo’s legs between her and the priest, her eyes focused solely on Sebin.</p><p>Sebin seemed to take no offense, though Jinwoo offered her a few more strokes upon her head, not wanting her to bark. Clearing his throat, Sebin said, “You are prepared for the ceremony?”</p><p>“I could not be more prepared,” Jinwoo answered.</p><p>Sebin nodded. “And the dog will stand with you, or—?”</p><p>“No. I’ll have her sit with my sister when it starts.”</p><p>“Very good.” Sebin again nodded his head, a touch more vigorously. He seemingly hesitated for a moment, then offered a smile that seemed stiff and awkward upon his lips. “I wish Your Highness happiness in matrimony. I truly do.” Then he bowed, saying, “If you will excuse me,” and stepped down from the dais.</p><p>Jinwoo watched him leave, mouth set in an unsettled line. When Jinwoo was alone once more, he looked down at his dog, his hand stroking lightly down her head. “Why me?” he murmured to her. “I have all of you. He doesn’t have anyone.”</p><p>Mina’s only response was to blink at him for a moment before she twisted around to nip at the fur upon her hind leg.</p><p>Jinwoo’s eyes crinkled at the sight and he patted her more strongly. “You’re so helpful,” he told her, his mouth settling into a weak grin.</p><p>Afterward, he ushered Mina into his sister’s care. She met him alone, adorned in the robes and crown that marked her as ruler in their mother’s absence. “My baby brother,” she said to him, mouth twisted into a smile whose emotions he could not identify. Jinwoo offered her a smile of his own before directing Mina to follow her.</p><p>Jihae laughed a bit as he did it, sounding breathless. “You know I must go up there with you? I have to give my blessing.”</p><p>Jinwoo blanched, and she laughed harder before adding, “I’ll have Heejung take her when it’s my turn, don’t worry.”</p><p>“Thank you,” he said. He wanted to say more, but he also knew that people were already beginning to funnel into the hall. Beyond his sister he could see Heejung, her body language one of tense anticipation. So, reminding himself that they would speak more after the ceremony was officially completed, he gave her a gentle push. “I’ll see you later.”</p><p>“I love you, Jinwoo,” she told him. But she allowed herself to be driven away, only turning back once to give him another smile. This one she wore like melancholy. “I hope you two can be happy.”</p><p>Jinwoo was the last to enter the hall. It was not what he wanted, but it was another subtle show of Nhaamju’s power. He would <em>make</em> his spouse wait, and thus would Yeonsan once more be reminded of how one-sided this alliance truly was.</p><p><em>Politics</em>, he thought. Even in his mind, the word tasted like bile.</p><p>He came to stand by Sanha’s side for the first time and wondered how two people who had never before met were meant to make a marriage work. Though he faced the Yongdu priest, he glanced at Sanha out of the corner of his eye. He was forced to look up, somewhat, and his eye hurt with the strain of it. He did not hope to catch his fiancé’s eye, but he did seek knowledge on how Sanha was handling everything.</p><p>The blank expression, upon a face that looked like it was made of porcelain, suggested that Sanha was paying as much attention to the proceedings as he was. When it came time to speak, Jinwoo proclaimed his commitment both to his nation and to his new spouse. Sanha followed him, and when the Yeonsan prince spoke, it was with perfect, practiced diction. There was no great inflection to the words, and yet Jinwoo found himself desirous to hear his partner speak further.</p><p>There was a quality to Sanha’s voice that was almost wind-like, something that made Jinwoo think of grasses grown calf-high parted by a wandering breeze and the sudden shaking of leaves when a storm passed overhead.</p><p>He wondered if Sanha was even really aware of him. </p><p>With their vows exchanged (insofar as such hollow words could be considered “vows”), Sebin briefly stepped back and Jihae took the stage, her arms spreading wide before her in a gesture of goodwill. Adorned as she was, Jinwoo found it difficult to remember that she was his sister and that he had, once upon a time, caught her tangled up in a lady’s skirts when she should have been babysitting him. As she was now, he almost thought her a stranger—but then she smiled at him, for just a moment, and he felt something loosen in his chest.</p><p>“I speak in place of my revered mother,” Jihae said. She projected her voice outward, so that even those furthest from the dais might hear her voice. “In times past, Nhaamju and Yeonsan were as blood-brothers, comrades whose lines tangled as deeply as roots. We gather today, that we may once more see one another as kin, that we may work toward the betterment of our nations. With the Dragon Kings’ blessing, this union shall never break.”</p><p>She dipped her head, a silent signal, and stepped back that the Yongdu priest might take her place. As Sebin drew forth the ceremonial knife, Jihae withdrew from the dais. Her hand came down to lightly rest upon Mina’s head as she rejoined her spouse, and the hound’s head tipped back to look up at her. Jinwoo saw no more, for he finally turned to face Sanha.</p><p>He met Sanha’s gaze squarely. He wondered how much of his emotion showed through his face; compared to his betrothed, he was sure he must be akin to an open book, for the Yeonsan prince’s face was set in the same closeted expression that Jinwoo knew so well from his portrait. He thought the young man disapproving, perhaps, but that was only because his brows sat high and his nose upturned at its tip. And he knew better than to put much stock in such a theory, for as dogs had their quirks, so too did humans; what read as disgruntlement on one face might simply mean puzzlement in another.</p><p>But, he thought, as he tipped his head back to more readily stare into Sanha’s eyes, Sanha certainly had any number of reasons to disapprove.</p><p>He was understandably shocked when Sanha’s mouth lifted in a small smile. It did not last long, for Sebin was swift to set the knife to Sanha’s hand, and Jinwoo felt sympathy course through him as blood wetted the blade and Sanha’s mouth crumpled into discomfort. Blood beaded up from the torn flesh; Jinwoo bit his lip, knowing what had happened to Sanha’s hand would soon come to his own.</p><p>Jinwoo looked toward Sanha, so that he might not focus upon his own imminent wound—but as soon as Sanha’s gaze met his, the Yeonsan prince was immediately following the slash of the blade. Jinwoo bit at the inside of his cheek. When the muscles in his hand flexed, the blood rushed up in thick, insistent waves.</p><p>Jinwoo drew in a deep breath as Sebin took their hands and pressed their open wounds against each other. It escaped in a hiss as the ragged skin rubbed together, and he heard Sanha make a breathy sound of pain.</p><p>But it ended as swiftly as it had begun. Sebin released their hands, and Jinwoo drew his back shakily. He had to fight against the urge to clean it, bind it, fight against infection that might set in—it was something ingrained in him, from years spent under the tutelage of those who knew an open wound in the wild meant an agonizing death. He had to remind himself that the blade had been tempered in flames so hot they would melt flesh off a bone and that any chance of contamination had burned away. But still, his hand ached.</p><p>It ached even after Sebin had declared them officially married.</p><p>They did not kiss, as Jinwoo had seen other couples do. Instead, they bowed to each other then turned as one and bowed to the audience that encircled the platform.</p><p>Jihae rose then, proclaimed the ceremony at an end, and encouraged the crowd to filter out onto the lawn, where they might mingle and partake in refreshments until they were called to dinner.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Married,” Jihae said to him later.</p><p>Together, she and Jinwoo watched his newly-wedded spouse peruse one of the many tables that had been set up upon the perfectly manicured yard. Sanha moved with all the regality expected of one from his bloodlines, but to Jinwoo’s eye his stride held a certain hitch, as if he were afraid to make his presence too largely known. Behind Sanha, one of his attendants followed at a respectable distance away, her eyes always upon her master—except, of course, when she turned to find Jinwoo. (Jinwoo knew too well the feeling of being watched to <em>not</em> notice her gaze, but he did not let on that he knew she sometimes stared at him openly. It was simpler to watch and be watched, sometimes.)</p><p>“It does not feel real,” he admitted to his sister. He had rolled the cuffs of his sleeves up and stood with a barely-touched drink in his hand. His hound was curled up at his feet, her head propped upon one paw as she kept an eye on the guests that threaded through and around each other like a school of fish.</p><p>The wound, having been discreetly washed and dressed, throbbed gently against the cool surface of his wineglass. His sister glanced at his bandaged hand before taking a sip from her own drink, saying simply, “Yes, I suppose it wouldn’t.”</p><p>“<em>That</em> is real,” Jinwoo relented. “But actually being married to him… that’s more—that’s harder,” he finished awkwardly.</p><p>“Dearheart,” Jihae said as Heejung rejoined their sides. Jinwoo offered his sister-in-law a strained smile and turned away when she dropped her head to press a kiss to Jihae’s hand. He had always thought their easy way of touching sweet, but now his stomach rolled at the sight—it was yet another reminder of what a sham his own marriage was.</p><p>He was almost relieved when Heejung said, “I would join him, if I were you.” At Jinwoo’s questioning look, she nodded once more to his spouse. He turned to look and saw that two figures stood beside Sanha. “I saw the princes of Gwangmun and Joryeong heading toward him.” With a touch of malice, she added, “I would save your little sheep, dear shepherd. He is like to lose his head for how easily he falls into trouble.”</p><p>“Heejung,” Jihae hissed. “He is <em>family</em>.”</p><p>Jinwoo knew there must be a story. His sister-in-law was not naturally prone to viciousness. But he did not stay by their side to extract the tale of what had passed; instead, he picked up a glass of something that smelled wickedly sweet and started in the direction of his spouse with his mouth set in a grim line.</p><p>It morphed into a smile as he drew near, and he said brightly, “Sanha!” when he was within speaking range. He hated to use the prince’s name when they had only just met (and did the ceremony actually count as “meeting”?), but he needed to stake his territory fast, for Myungjun’s smile was razor-sharp and Bin carried power in the set of his shoulders.</p><p>They were his dear friends and his protectors, but both came to strife too easily. With neither Eunwoo or Minhyuk to act as mediator, they were likely to tear Sanha to shreds without Jinwoo’s intervention. (Whether they did so metaphorically or literally was something Jinwoo <em>especially</em> did not wish to learn.)</p><p>He circled his friends and came to stand at his spouse’s side. Mina made her presence known with a gentle press against his other side, her eyes liquid-soft as she regarded first Bin and then Myungjun. She knew them, of course, but she was not a pet to be coddled and petted; she made this abundantly clear in the way she stood, tail motionless behind her.</p><p>“Bin, Myungjun,” Jinwoo said, forcing his smile wider. “You’ve met my husband, then?” The pair had startled at his approach, and Sanha’s eyes were moon-wide as he stared down at Jinwoo. It was Bin who recovered the swiftest; his hand rose to scratch at his neck, mouth set in a twist that indicated he had yet to solidify his opinion.</p><p>Myungjun, for his part, laughed and clapped his hands together. “We only thought it right to meet our best friend’s spouse.” His brows furrowed and he crossed his arms, the perfect actor, as he added, “And shame on you! You’re meant to be the one who introduces us to him; imagine my shock when we approached him and he had no idea who we were.”</p><p>“I’m sure it was quite astonishing to meet someone who doesn’t know you, Myungjun,” Jinwoo said wryly. He offered a smaller, gentler smile to Sanha and added, “You’re actually lucky to have lived your life never meeting him until now.”</p><p>Sanha smiled back at him, but it lacked substance. Jinwoo tried to ignore the short distance that separated them, made especially noticeable by how easily Myungjun and Bin mingled in his space.</p><p>Jinwoo outright laughed when Myungjun snapped, “Hey!” Sanha’s voice echoed his, a lighter, more delicate sound that came across as stringently rehearsed.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Sanha said and dipped into a brief bow. “It’s true I did not recognize either of you. This is the first time I’ve traveled beyond my father’s court.”</p><p>“Then allow me to make introductions,” Jinwoo said. He gestured first to Bin, eyes locked upon his spouse as he did so. He knew that any potential danger had passed with his appearance. Bin would not act openly against Sanha, and Myungjun was too clever to attempt anything while Jinwoo’s guard was up. But he knew not how Sanha behaved in the presence of others and so sought to understand his actions.</p><p>“This is His Highness Moon Bin, Crown Prince of Gwangmun. A dear friend of mine, I think I can safely say.” From the corner of his eye, Jinwoo saw Bin smile as he spoke. It made his own grin stretch wider, and he threw his friend a playful wink before shifting his attention to Myungjun.</p><p>“And this is His Highness Kim Myungjun, first in line to the throne of Joryeong.” He turned his voice gently teasing as he added, “I <em>guess</em> we’re friends.”</p><p>Myungjun answered his grin with a matching one. “Is that what you think? Didn’t we have you sign a servant contract to me when we were children?”</p><p>“It was fake,” Jinwoo chirped back. “And Butterscotch tore it up.”</p><p>“Ah, I see. The old classic: dog ruined my important documents.”</p><p>“She just recognized rubbish when she saw it,” Jinwoo said. Still wearing a smile, he risked a glance at Sanha’s face. His husband watched their interactions quietly, dark eyes darting between them as each spoke. When at last there came a lapse in conversation, he was quick to interject himself.</p><p>“It is wonderful to meet you both,” Sanha said, directing a bow first to Bin and then to Myungjun. Toward Bin, his bow scraped a hairs-breadth lower; he seemed versed in international politics, if nothing else, for Gwangmun was of a greater power than Joryeong (upon the surface, anyway) and thus commanded greater respect.</p><p>Of course, Sanha did not bow too deeply, for Nhaamju was the largest of the three, and he was technically of the Park household now that Jinwoo’s blood had mixed with his.</p><p>Jinwoo knew Myungjun caught all of this information as easily as he might pluck a leaf from a branch. The prince wore a look of careful contemplation, and it was only wiped away when he felt Jinwoo’s eyes upon him. Then he smiled, showing his teeth and wrinkling his nose in boy-like joy.</p><p>When Jinwoo smiled back, it felt more like the flash of a warning snarl. Sanha was his now: a vassal under his protection, a husband upon his arm. He did not like to throw his weight around, but he also knew Myungjun sometimes pushed too far; it was an unfortunate consequence of what Joryeong had done to him. (The sunshine smile had survived into adulthood, but sometimes it was made of daggers instead of petals.)</p><p>“Oh, for you,” Jinwoo said, finally offering up the drink he had snagged to Sanha. “Sorry, Jihae waylaid me on my way to get it.” He suspected his act was not especially convincing, but Sanha took the drink from his hand in a smooth motion that momentarily brushed their fingers together. Something uneasy rolled in his belly, and he raised his own glass to take another gulp of wine that had gone lukewarm.</p><p>“Thank you,” Sanha said with a gentle smile. If he had any reaction to their hands touching, he was careful not to show it upon his face. He raised the glass to delicately sniff at it before taking a small, languid sip. His eyes momentarily scrunched up, his mouth twisting, and he said with a small laugh, “Oh, it’s stronger here!”</p><p>“Everything’s stronger in Namudo,” Jinwoo said. He considered if he should pat his husband’s arm—but, no, he was lucky that Sanha had played along even this far. And he could not bring himself to freely touch someone who was a stranger in every way that mattered, politics be damned. His bandaged hand throbbed, and he gripped his glass tighter as he took another mouthful.</p><p>“No,” Bin said, directing his gaze at Sanha. “You should visit Gwangmun. Some of our alcohol…” he trailed off with a nostalgic sigh.</p><p>Jinwoo shuddered in answer, awash in memories of the last time he had visited Bin’s nation for his birthday. He was thankful he could not remember most of the night, but he was also worried that everything past the first drink he’d taken was hidden behind a fog that grew no clearer with the passage of time.</p><p>Myungjun was more direct, saying, “You’d blackout. Immediately. Wouldn’t even have time to lie down.”</p><p>Bin shrugged with a small smile. “It happens.”</p><p>Delicately, Jinwoo added, “Let’s not be overzealous today.” He traced the rim of his wineglass, not wanting to take another sip but also unwilling to stand without something to occupy his mind. “Not with my sister here, at any rate.”</p><p>“We’re on our best behavior?” Sanha asked softly.</p><p>Jinwoo responded with an answering smile. He had noticed that Sanha was measured in his words but knew not how to draw his husband further into the conversation. He recognized it was difficult enough that he and his friends had built up a rapport that lent itself to a swift dialogue with topics that changed nearly so fast as they could be spoken—but Sanha was also an outsider to the customs and culture of the northern lands. And he did not trust Jinwoo to lead him.</p><p>The thought was enough to make Jinwoo bite his lip, apprehension drawing lines in his face before he swept it quickly away with another blooming smile that sat stiffly upon his mouth.</p><p>“We really should visit my brother,” he said.</p><p>Sanha made a soft sound of questioning, and Jinwoo met his friends’ eyes one at a time.</p><p>“You’ve met my sister and Heejung, of course,” Jinwoo explained. “But I’d like you to see my brother as well—he can’t visit as often, now that he has the baby to care for.”</p><p>“Then we should go,” Sanha said. He dipped into a small bow for Bin and Myungjun, adding, “If you will excuse us.”</p><p>“Of course,” Myungjun said. He raised his hand in a small, half-hearted wave.</p><p>“Say hello for me,” Bin added.</p><p>“Enjoy the banquet,” Jinwoo told them. Then, he carefully started off in the direction he believed his brother might be. He lagged his steps until he was certain Sanha was at his side. Mina only rose to follow him when he had moved a small distance away, and she trotted after him with dogged determination. (She had grown used to this behavior over the years and never made much complaint, which was why Jinwoo typically chose her as the hound to accompany him at functions.)</p><p>They had only gone a little ways when Jinwoo again slowed his steps, unsure of what to say, but knowing that he must say <em>something</em> to his husband. He could name every single person who had come to attend his wedding, but he doubted Sanha had been afforded the same luxury. He did not like the idea of Sanha stood on the outside looking in, for all that Jinwoo had been allowed years to cultivate his relationships.</p><p>It would have been easy to blame Yeonsan for not affording Sanha the same experiences Jinwoo had received, when they were both third-born and extraneous to the needs of the crown, but Jinwoo suspected that the Yeonsan rulers had never thought they would eventually marry one of their precious children away.</p><p><em>Politics</em>, Jinwoo thought agitatedly.</p><p>“Sanha,” he began, the name unfamiliar upon his tongue. “If you ever feel uncomfortable or don’t want to be there, just mention Mina.” He looked down at his hound and smiled, for her ears had perked up at her name, and she had trotted a few steps closer that she might be available to perform one of the few tricks he had taught her.</p><p>“Mina?” Sanha echoed. (Jinwoo noted, absently, that his spouse took care to keep Jinwoo between himself and the dog, stance awkwardly straight.)</p><p>“Mina,” Jinwoo echoed with a nod toward his dog. When she raised her head, he reached down to scratch under her chin, scraping his nails through the short fur until she had enough and pulled away. “Just say you think she wants some water or that she might like a treat—or just say something about dogs, and I’ll know.” He wetted the corner of his mouth, before adding, “Everyone knows I’m dog-crazy, so they won’t take offense.”</p><p>Though it was the truth, and it was a truth he wore proudly, Jinwoo found himself strangely hesitant to admit such a thing. He looked toward Sanha, checking for his husband’s reaction, but Sanha only showed a neutral response, nodding his comprehension but otherwise showing no outward expression to Jinwoo’s admittance. That he apparently did not care only made it more difficult for Jinwoo to speak again.</p><p>He slipped into an uneasy silence that was only broken by Sanha’s cautious prompt of, “Shall we visit your brother now?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jinwoo answered. He pasted another smile to his face and led his spouse once more in search of his brother.</p><p>He found that the more he smiled, the worse he felt.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was some many hours later that Jinwoo finally saw off the last of their guests. His mouth ached from how many smiles he had shown, and something heavier than exhaustion settled upon his back when he remembered he must share his bed with Sanha that night.</p><p>They had spoken little following his instructions, and what words they had exchanged during the banquet had mostly consisted of Jinwoo leading Sanha through different dishes to try after Sanha had shown a taste much more delicate than Jinwoo’s own. The bulk of Jinwoo’s conversation had come from his sister, and it had been Junyoung’s wife who had kept up a friendly banter with Sanha.</p><p>(Jinwoo had told her quietly, as they were saying their farewells, that he was quite envious of her, and she had smiled and bounced the baby upon her hip and said, “Just speak to him, Jinwoo. Like you would anyone else.”</p><p>He had thought that easy enough for her to say, when she was not the one married to the Yeonsan prince.)</p><p>But now, Jinwoo traced his path to Sanha’s bedroom with a slow, drawn-out pace, that he might put off their night-time meeting a moment longer. Because their marriage was a known farce, his mother’s advisors had written within the agreed-upon contract that Jinwoo and his spouse must share a “marital bed” once a month. Beyond that, Sanha was free to roam about the palace as he wished, and Jinwoo could have as little or as much contact with Sanha as he pleased. This was to be the first of their monthly visits, and Jinwoo thought it cruel irony that the wedding night, meant to be a time of bliss and giddiness, was instead a scheduled appointment that they must keep.</p><p>Some concessions had been made and what would have been a specially-made room was instead turned into Sanha’s bedroom. Jinwoo had preferred it this way, for having to march to a room that only saw use once a month (and for something so unappealing) would have nearly driven him mad, but as he carefully crossed the threshold into Sanha’s rooms, he realized that Sanha might disagree with their current arrangement.</p><p><em>It is like I am stealing into his room at night to—</em>.</p><p>Jinwoo cut the thought off there, something like acid rising in his throat. He was sure that Mina was making herself comfortable upon his bed, as he raised his hand to knock upon the door that led into Sanha’s bedroom. The fire in the hearth of the rooms he stood in crackled quietly, having been banked to die down slowly over the course of the night.</p><p>“It’s open,” called a voice from within. It sounded soft, faded around the edges, and Jinwoo’s wounded hand curled into a tight fist until his nails pushed against the bandages over his cut.</p><p>Jinwoo carefully opened the door and stepped into a room lit only by the flame of a single lantern. The lantern’s paneling cast the room in a soft glow but occasionally shadows leapt up upon the walls when the flame within its casing flickered or dipped.</p><p>The bedroom was nearly identical to Jinwoo’s own, from the four-poster bed with matching bench at its foot to the sofa tucked into the corner to the desk set up just opposite a pair of windows that offered full view of the front-facing lawns. Next to the half-opened wardrobe stood a door that led into a personal bathroom. Opposite it was the door that connected to Jinwoo’s bedroom.</p><p>Jinwoo knew the door must be locked; he had immediately set the latch in his own, so that Sanha would not be able to freely enter his room. It was not that he did not trust his spouse—but he preferred his most private room not be so easily accessed. He had promised himself it was only a temporary obstruction, that he would eventually remove the chain and invite Sanha to come and go as he pleased. But that would be for later.</p><p>The Yeonsan prince sat upon the bench, and Jinwoo paused momentarily as he took in the sight of him, surprise slackening his jaw. Sanha had obviously bathed and disrobed as he had, changing into the garments he typically wore to bed—and Jinwoo had known, of course, that the Yeonsan people favored face paints. (He wore some himself, in truth, but it was a simple cream designed to lighten what blemishes appeared on his face.) But it was his first time to see Sanha bare-faced.</p><p>His brows had been scrubbed of their darkening powder. His upper lip no longer appeared nearly so full as his lower. And the angles of his face now ran softer, so that when he met Jinwoo’s gaze, it was with none of the aloof confidence he had shown throughout the day.</p><p>Jinwoo ran his tongue over his lip, realized he was staring, and abruptly turned away to shut the door gently behind him, carrying a reverence he did not fully understand.</p><p>He turned back to find Sanha carefully pulling a comb through his hair, the black locks lying limp against his scalp as he brushed them into order.</p><p>“You didn’t have a servant brush your hair?” Jinwoo asked, for lack of anything else to say. He regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, for his voice boomed loud in the silence of the room.</p><p>Sanha blinked back at him for a moment before cutting his gaze away, mouth pinching in a line before he said, carefully, “I did. I’m just… doing it myself, too.” It was obvious these were not the words he meant to say, but he said nothing else, and the soft shush of the comb’s teeth through his hair filled the space his words had left behind.</p><p>Jinwoo sucked on the inside of his cheek, hesitant to step further into the room. He already felt like an intruder, and there was a sense of sanctity to the place that he did not wish to disturb. At last, Sanha took pity on him, briefly setting the comb down and patting the bench beside where he sat.</p><p>“You can come sit,” he said with a half-smile. “It’ll be a long night either way.”</p><p>“It’s your room,” Jinwoo told him. But he reluctantly stepped forward, feeling more like a great, lumbering bear than a human. He crossed the distance between them and sat beside Sanha with some trepidation. The slanted smile Sanha briefly showed suggested his response had been poorly phrased, but the Yeonsan prince said nothing, only continuing to work the comb through his hair.</p><p>So near, Jinwoo could smell the softest hint of a fragrance. It smelled almost floral, but it was not a scent he could connect to any of the flowers he came into regular contact with. He knew it had become fashionable amongst the nobility of Nhaamju to perfume their hair using special oils, but Namudo saw few of these.</p><p>(To Bin, most of them were overpowering and sickly, but Bin had also told Jinwoo once upon a time he smelled of newly-crushed pine when he had not been hunting in days.)</p><p>“Does your hand hurt?”</p><p>The question, spoken so softly, made Jinwoo glance down toward his cut. He knew it would seal over in a few days and the scar would show for only a handful of months—but it still throbbed, a reminder that he was alive and healing. He smiled, because the pain he carried was nothing compared to the excited kick of a newborn foal or the bite of an overzealous dog who had forgotten that even at half a year it was already knee-high.</p><p>“Only a bit,” he answered. “Is yours all right?”</p><p>Sanha grimaced a bit as he flexed his hand, inspecting first his palm and then the back. “I hate the bandages. When they rub on the skin it hurts worse.”</p><p>“They keep dirt from getting in,” Jinwoo told him.</p><p>Sanha’s response was a simple, “I know.”</p><p>“I haven’t spoken to you before today,” Jinwoo said. He did not quite know what to say, but he thought it important to address Sanha’s emotional wellbeing. It was too easy to wrap himself up in his own discomfort, but Sanha was surrounded by the unfamiliar. If Jinwoo was having difficulty, he could not begin to imagine how hard it must be on his husband. “I wanted to know what you—thought.”</p><p>At Sanha’s questioning look, Jinwoo expanded, “Namudo, Nhaamju. The people you met today. You didn’t try to pet Mina, but you can if you want to. She’ll learn to like you.” He sucked on his lip and said more slowly, “If you have anything you want to talk about, I’m here.”</p><p>He did not expect Sanha to immediately open up to him, and so Jinwoo was not greatly surprised when Sanha only answered him with a soft, “Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” But he did think there was perhaps hope, for Sanha raised one knee up, foot perching on the edge of the bench, and wrapped his arms around it. He rested his head against his thigh, face turned toward Jinwoo, and said, “I’ve met your friend before. Prince Myungjun.”</p><p>Jinwoo felt his brow furrow. He was certain Myungjun had never mentioned any knowledge of Sanha beyond small pieces of information he had heard second-hand. “Have you?”</p><p>“Yes,” Sanha said. “Once, when I was a little boy, my father hosted a great gathering. We had a few dignitaries visit, no one especially important. I saw your friend.”</p><p>Jinwoo sucked on the inside of his cheek. “How old were you?” he asked carefully. Sanha was not so much greatly younger than himself, but there was some distance between Sanha and Myungjun. He had not thought Myungjun embroiled in his family business until he had reached his mid-teens, but now he wondered if he was wrong.</p><p>“So long ago,” Sanha mused, tilting his head to the side. His eyes lidded and he said, “Nearly seven. I fell asleep on my mother’s lap.”</p><p>It was better than Jinwoo had feared but the knowledge that his best friend had already begun to collect secrets at such an age made him look toward the ceiling, not wanting Sanha to see the expression on his face.</p><p>“He barely spoke,” Sanha continued beside him, voice half-hearted. “I gave him a piece of candy—one of the last ones I had—because he looked so sad. He wasn’t the same today.”</p><p>“We change as we age,” Jinwoo said.</p><p>“I don’t think I ever have.” Sanha said. He raised his head then, to fully look at Jinwoo, and he asked, “Do you think I will now that I’m here?”</p><p>Jinwoo wondered what it was his spouse sought from him. He wondered if Sanha saw anything at all when he looked at Jinwoo—or was it just him who tried to press meaning into this marriage of convenience? His words ran ragged when he said, “You’ve already changed. We’re always changing.”</p><p>Whatever answer Jinwoo was meant to give, what he said was obviously the wrong thing, for Sanha cut his eyes away and reached down to pick back up the comb he’d discarded. Sanha carded it through his hair, lower lip nearly overlapping his top one as he considered the wall. “Change isn’t always good,” he said.</p><p>“But I don’t think we should fear it,” Jinwoo murmured, knowing that what he said was hypocritical to how he truly felt.</p><p>With a small smile, Sanha said, “Tell me that again on our first anniversary.” He rose then, and Jinwoo watched as he fiddled with the comb in his hand before leaning down to press a kiss to Jinwoo’s mouth.</p><p>Jinwoo simply stared up at him, not knowing how to react, and Sanha stood back up after lingering over Jinwoo for a few moments more. “We never had our newlywed kiss,” he murmured.</p><p>“We should sleep,” Jinwoo said. He did not know how to feel about what Sanha had done—but there had been something disingenuous in the action. He wished, desperately, to be returned to his old rooms, where he might sleep on a bed piled up with dogs.</p><p>Dogs, he thought, were much more honest.</p><p>He rose as well and stepped past Sanha to circle the bed. He busily set to the task of pulling back the duvet and the linens that lay beneath. He could feel Sanha’s eyes on him—and he glanced up at his husband only once, to see Sanha’s face twisted into something that looked like bewilderment.</p><p><em>Why are you the one who's confused? </em>he thought and hated the sense of betrayal that rose up within him.</p><p>“Come to bed,” he said, when he had suitably unmade the bed. He patted at the top mattress and did not bother to watch Sanha hesitantly circle to the other side.</p><p>They settled into the bed, and Jinwoo snuffed out the lantern’s flame, plunging the room into darkness. What little light remained came only by way of the moon, but it was enough that Jinwoo was able to watch his husband, illuminated in the pale light. As Jinwoo looked on, Sanha settled onto his stomach before turning his face away, to look toward the wall instead of toward Jinwoo.</p><p>Jinwoo studied his still form for a few moments more before turning to face the ceiling and closing his eyes; he settled his hands atop his chest, fingers folded through each other.  </p><p><em>Married</em>, he thought.</p><p>The memory of Sanha’s mouth upon his was slowly overwhelmed by the insistent ache in his palm.</p><p>Jinwoo found himself glad for the pain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Jinwoo loves his friends but also technically can’t trust his friends because belonging to different nations makes everything complicated.  </p><p>(one day i'll post a story where myungjun actually has a normal life and isn't fucked over by his circumstances lmao)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Breakthrough</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Minhyuk makes an appearance and turns out to be the smartest person in the palace. It's amazing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Second Day of the Ninth Month </em>
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<p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
</p>
<p>
  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Sanha was slow to rise the day after his wedding. He did not often sleep in (late-night poetry readings notwithstanding), but he found himself reluctant to wake this day. He could have easily claimed it lingering fatigue from a wedding that had sawed at his nerves like nothing else. He could have said it was a consequence of the night he had shared with his spouse (never mind that their “night” had been a fleeting conversation and then an unbreakable silence). But the truth was that he did not <em>want</em> to see Park Jinwoo.</p>
<p>He had woken once, when the sky outside his windows had been painted verdant grey, and had watched silently as his husband rose and crept from their shared room. He had not dared to call after Jinwoo, locked in a panic that had carried over from when he fell asleep.</p>
<p>Sanha had grievously miscalculated.</p>
<p>He had thought to kiss Jinwoo to prove himself right and Kim Chaewon wrong, had mistaken careful consideration for something more insidious—and he had done it spitefully, daring his husband to prove him wrong. And Jinwoo had; Sanha had burned with shame and frustration to see the discomfort twist Jinwoo’s face, pain blooming like betrayal.</p>
<p>And he burned with indignation, that Jinwoo dared to be a good spouse, someone who sought only to protect him. He had been faced with just how little he knew in the gathering that had followed their wedding vows, but that did not mean he needed saving.</p>
<p>But the worst thing was that he was still afraid. He did not want to give into trust so easily.</p>
<p>He had thought again and again that he was a caged bird, and Jinwoo had done everything possible to refute this notion. And yet Sanha remembered well the court of his father, where the best actors had dressed in bright smiles and warm eyes. He had seen the same in Kim Myungjun—Jinwoo’s courtesy might well be its own poison, of a type he had never before encountered.</p>
<p>Even though he wanted to apologize to Jinwoo for what he had done, experience warned him to behave with caution. He had seen the vipers of the Yeonsan court guise themselves for weeks and months—all so that they might tumble an opponent when they judged the situation appropriately ripened.</p>
<p><em>‘It’s too late, it’s too late, it’s too late.’</em> Sanha recited in his mind, rolled onto his back with his eyes squeezed shut and an arm thrown over his face. ‘<em>I am swallowed by the storm.’</em></p>
<p>The words came from a poem he had read in boyhood, warning against an approaching storm that drew the speaker to watch the beautiful destruction it wrought. The speaker himself had been swept away, unwilling to flee until it was too late. Sanha thought it especially befitting of his current circumstances.</p>
<p>He finally rose when the sky was an eggshell blue, speckled with wisps of cloud that drifted lazily upon a light breeze. He tugged on the bell loop that threaded through the walls and ran into the servants’ quarters and had only just begun to dab the remnants of sleep from his eye when two of his retainers stepped into his rooms. He recognized Jiyeong immediately (it helped that they had spoken, he thought), but it took a moment for the manservant’s name to click into place.</p>
<p>Kyungho had been one of the many manservants who vied for a place at Sanha’s side, but he had only ever been granted tasks of middling quality in Yeonsan. It seemed that he had chosen to follow his master even across borders, and Sanha awarded the young man with a delicate smile—and was further gratified when Kyungho immediately dropped into a bow, his ears a blushing pink.</p>
<p>“Good morning, Your Highness,” Jiyeong said, having already risen from a bow of her own. She stood with her hands folded primly in front of her, every inch a professional.</p>
<p>Sanha dipped his head at her and murmured a greeting of his own. He rose, and Kyungho hurried forward to garb him in a dressing robe. Even after it had been settled upon his shoulders, Sanha lingered by the side of the bed, uncertain of how best to proceed. In Yeonsan, his days had been structured from a young age.</p>
<p>On such a day as this, he would have taken breakfast alone before attending the first of his lessons. From there, he would have taken mid-morning tea with young men and women of suitable pedigree and divvied his time between further tutors and his own pursuits before visiting his father’s court. His time spent at the court passed quickly or slowly and often set up how the rest of his day played out. But now, he was lost in what to do. He supposed he could wander the halls of his new domain, but behaving as a foreign ghost held little appeal.</p>
<p>He was puzzling out how best to proceed when Jiyeong said, “Your Highness?”</p>
<p>“Yes?” he asked, returning his attention to her.</p>
<p>“Your Lord Husband’s Chief Steward, Min Yongtae, begs your presence once you have taken your morning meal.”</p>
<p>Well, Sanha thought, that would certainly kill at least one hour. “And where is my dear husband?” he asked. He did not wish to run into Jinwoo without prior warning.</p>
<p>“His Highness rode out in the early morn.” Jiyeong hesitated for a moment, and Sanha read apprehension in the curl of her hand as she tucked back a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “The other servants suggested this is something quite normal for him.”</p>
<p>Something small and spiteful in Sanha hissed that Jinwoo had been so gracious upon their marital bed only because he already found satisfaction in the arms of a paramour. <em>Well</em>, he thought, <em>better someone else than me.</em> Let the Dog Lord satiate himself elsewhere; it suited Sanha just fine.</p>
<p>“I see,” Sanha said. “I’ll take breakfast now.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Your Highness,” Jiyeong said. “Kyungho will assist you while I fetch it.” She dipped into another bow, then left the bedroom, leaving Sanha alone with Kyungho.</p>
<p>Sanha stepped past Kyungho and settled down upon his sofa, crossing one leg over the other as he faced toward the wardrobe. Given the fashion his husband’s family had presented last night, he could guess toward what was newly in-season at the capital.</p>
<p>“The burgundy jacket,” he directed after a moment of consideration. “We’ll pair it with the darker pants, accessorize with cream and gold. Take care with the blush, or I’ll look ruddy.”</p>
<p>“Yes, Your Highness,” Kyungho squeaked out, moving quickly to withdraw the garments Sanha pointed out. The colors he had chosen were a near-match to the national colors of Nhaamju, though Namudo itself used the deep evergreen of pine and the crisp white of snow. Sanha wondered how the servants would view him, garbed in the colors of their beloved nation even while dressed as a foreigner.</p>
<p>(Perhaps it was news that Jinwoo possessed a lover that made him so bold in his disdain.)</p>
<p>With his clothes laid out, Sanha headed into the bathroom and allowed Kyungho to groom him. His body was carefully gone over with wetted washcloths, and teeth-cleaning powder was applied to the interior of his mouth. Kyungho treated him as if he were made from porcelain, and Sanha could not help but smile a bit as the manservant delicately dabbed a balm upon his lips. After the last few weeks, it felt good to be pampered.</p>
<p>He moved into the room just outside his bedroom and found his breakfast laid out upon a little table with a chair drawn out. While he ate, Jiyeong and Kyungho prepared his clothes (smoothing out nonexistence wrinkles, straightening and re-straightening the hems until they laid flat) and tidied up his bed so that it stood perfect when he returned to his bedroom.</p>
<p>The pair assisted him in dressing and then Kyungho brushed through his hair (one thousand strokes, Sanha had said, so that it might gleam like silk) while Jiyeong carefully applied the face paints he had chosen to match his clothes.</p>
<p>He felt better, to have his face once more covered. Long ago his mother had taught him to think of it as armor and weapon both. With his greatest flaws brushed away, he found it easier to press a smile to his mouth, voice softly confident as he said, “Well, I do believe it is time I see Master Min.”</p>
<p>He looked toward Jiyeong as he spoke, for she seemed more able to withstand his visage in that moment—Kyungho could not meet his eyes, his gaze fixated upon the floor at Sanha’s feet. Jiyeong dipped her head in a small bow and said, “As His Highness wishes,” before stepping forward to pull open the door that led out into the palace halls, gestures elegant as she bowed him through. “This way, Your Highness.”</p>
<p>Kyungho bowed deeply as Sanha followed after her, apparently recognizing Sanha’s words as a dismissal.</p>
<p>Jiyeong led Sanha down the long hallway that served as the second floor of the northern wing. They descended the grand staircase that led down into the main foyer of the palace and then turned as if to head toward the western wing and the kennels that stood at their end.</p>
<p>As they walked, Sanha was again reminded of the differences between Yeonsan and Nhaamju. In his home country, servants were never heard and seldom seen. Here, they worked busily as he passed them by, only pausing briefly to bow in his direction before continuing on with their work. He found himself wondering if it truly was so common in Nhaamju or if this was simply Jinwoo’s influence as Lord of Namudo.</p>
<p>He did not think on it long, for it was only a short distance from the central staircase that they came upon a door, plain but for the ornamental handle fashioned in the shape of a beast’s mouth. Sanha thought the creature perhaps a hound, but this face showed far more teeth than Jinwoo’s dog had, and its face was twisted in a wild cry of savagery.</p>
<p><em>A wolf</em>, he surmised.</p>
<p>“I shall be just outside,” Jiyeong told him and opened the door to allow him in.</p>
<p>Sanha stepped into a small antechamber, one made all the smaller by the furniture that so cluttered its floor. Against each wall stood bookshelves overflowing with texts of varying sizes. Cabinets took up what space they could, and one drawer stood open, filled with what looked to be a number of documents organized in a state Sanha did not find readily apparent. At the far end of the room, <em>also</em> surrounded by piles of paper but also backed by a trio of windows swung open to allow airflow, sat Min Yongtae.</p>
<p>Sanha was not well-acquainted with the man, but it had been he who had so restricted Sanha’s access to Jinwoo, and it was through him that Sanha’s needs had been met. He had been the one to order Sanha a wardrobe of clothing better suited to the upcoming winter, and it had been by his hand that a chef versed in Yeonsan cuisine was hired on to better serve Sanha’s palate. He had abruptly told Sanha at one point that such actions were carried out only because Jinwoo so willed them, and that to Yongtae, Sanha was simply another noble he must oblige, no matter how ridiculous his requests.</p>
<p>Such candor (from a man who could only be a second or third son from a minor house of nobility) had startled Sanha, and he had been uncertain how to respond. He hoped now that the man might show him more respect.</p>
<p>He quickly came to the conclusion that Yongtae would afford him nothing, no matter how great his status rose. The man pointedly ignored him for a few moments, and Sanha was left to stand awkwardly in the center of the room. Through the windows trickled the sound of birdsong and the scent of fresh-cut grass intermixed with the sweat of man and beast alike. Sanha found the scent of perfumed pages a kinder smell, but it seemed plain that Yongtae was knuckled down among books out of necessity, not pleasure.</p>
<p>At last, the steward looked up. His expression made it plain he did not enjoy Sanha’s presence, and he wore a scowl openly as he jerked his head to the seat placed before his desk. “Oh, don’t stand there, Your Highness. Sit down, so I don’t have to crane my neck any longer than I have to.”</p>
<p>Sanha said, a touch disbelieving, “Surely your tone borders upon insubordination,” and Yongtae huffed irritably.</p>
<p>“Surely, Your Highness,” Yongtae said silkily. He took up the quill he had been using to sign documents, jabbed it into its inkpot, and then carved out another signature upon the parchment sat before him, his strokes swift and unrefined. As if reminding himself, he muttered, “I did not call you here for a fight,” before saying more loudly, “His Lordship said you were to be given as many responsibilities as you wished, so I figured now was as good a time as any to settle matters.”</p>
<p>“Pardon?” Sanha had heard his words well enough—but what the steward said might as well have been another language, for all that Sanha understood it. He felt a touch foolish and offered a small smile in what he hoped was appeasement.</p>
<p>“Did you not discuss it last night?” Yongtae asked. “Honestly.” He blew a great gust of air from between his lips and ran his hand over the side of his scalp that had been shaved of hair. Sanha watched his fingers map out the small dips and bumps and wondered if the action was self-soothing.</p>
<p>“Simply put, Your Highness, I currently handle the majority of Namudo’s affairs. ‘tis I who sets taxes and settles trade disputes and allocates funding. I do the same for all that is within this household. His Lordship thought you too new to handle the entire province, but he thought you might like to manage your own estate.” Lip curling in evident distaste, he added, “He said that it isn’t uncommon for the one who marries into the house to take over domestic affairs while the original Lord or Lady continues as they’ve been doing. In this case, His Lordship gives you reign over the staff, the accounts, the events we host—within reason, of course.”</p>
<p>Sanha found himself at a loss for words.</p>
<p>Had Jinwoo truly offered him control of everything in the northern palace? He knew it was common for married heads of houses to divide their tasks between themselves and their spouse, but such a thing was based in trust. And there were plenty who never gave any amount of control over to their spouse, believing them unfit to handle such affairs—especially when it was so large an estate as this.</p>
<p>“Within reason,” Sanha echoed, for lack of anything else to say.</p>
<p>Yongtae busily set aside the parchment he had been reading through without signing it and began to read over the one beneath it. “I would offer guidance and be allowed to stop orders that might prove detrimental to this house—such as firing our personal garrison or failing to pay wages for the month. After a year, all responsibility would be handed over to you.” He frowned, briefly tugged at his earlobe, and at last signed his name at the bottom of the document.</p>
<p>Yongtae set the quill down and folded his hands before him. “This is, of course, only if you so wish to assume any of these duties. Prince Jinwoo is more than happy to let you live out your life as you please. An allowance has already been set aside should you wish to travel.”</p>
<p>“We have only just married!” Sanha said, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. He had thought himself a caged bird, but here was Jinwoo willingly opening the door and stepping inside with him. He remembered again what Kim Chaewon had said, that Jinwoo would be earnest and respectful and that should Sanha conspire against him, it would only ever be to his own detriment.</p>
<p>Yongtae’s mouth lifted in a mocking smile, revealing a front tooth that gleamed golden. “Yes,” he said patiently. “Now think of what he shall give you when you are even better acquainted.”</p>
<p>Sanha raised his hand to his mouth, hiding the frown that so muddled his expression. He did not want to imply he found the idea disconcerting, especially not to a man who obviously saw him as only another headache to deal with. He only lowered his hand when he had properly hidden his discontent and offered a small smile. “Well,” he said, “he is my husband. But I think I shall wait to take over any duties until I am better acquainted with the palace and how it operates. Is that acceptable?”</p>
<p>Yongtae shrugged. “As His Highness wishes. Once you have made your decision, please tell a servant you wish to see me, and we can go over arrangements. In the meantime—I’ll have someone show you around the palace and its grounds. If you are to manage the house, it will be good to first see how it operates.”</p>
<p>Sanha dipped his head. “That sounds like a useful endeavor. I’ll gladly accept the tour.”</p>
<p>“Ah, and,” Yongtae said, offering Sanha a twist of his mouth that might have been snarl or smile or grimace, “welcome to Namudo, Your Highness. We’re happy to have you here.”</p>
<p>It might have been one of the worst lies Sanha had ever heard.</p>
<p> </p>
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<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sixteenth Day of the Ninth Month </em>
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  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
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<p>
  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Before Sanha had ever even stepped foot inside the northern palace he had thought that he would be beneath his husband’s thumb constantly, expected to attend him in everything he did. Instead, he found himself going days without seeing his husband. Yongtae’s explanation (half-shouted in exasperation because it was the fourth time that day Sanha had entered him room and he was drowning in paperwork) was that now was one of the busiest times of the year for Jinwoo.</p>
<p>Watching his husband ride out each morning, Sanha idly wondered if Jinwoo’s partner was married themselves and could only be with Jinwoo when their actual spouse ventured elsewhere.</p>
<p>This is not to say he never saw his husband or even interacted with him. They took dinner together, but each meal that passed reminded him of why he should be <em>glad</em> to not see Jinwoo: the small dining room they ate in was made all the smaller by the silence that stuffed the space between them.</p>
<p>And, though Sanha had thought Jinwoo’s massive dog intimidating, he was almost glad when one trailed in after his husband at dinner, for they would gently take what table scraps were offered them, employing their long, tapering muzzles with an elegancy Sanha thought almost poetic to witness.</p>
<p>Of the many hounds that made their home in the House of the Wind, Sanha came to see two most often. Unsurprisingly, they were both recognized as Jinwoo’s personal dogs.</p>
<p>Mina was the one he knew better, but that was only because Jinwoo had introduced him to her during the gathering that had followed their wedding. She was a striking individual: overwhelmingly white with scattered patches of darker fur that looked like menacing stormclouds threaded through with silver and gold. Sanha thought her Jinwoo’s shadow, for all that she was nearly so white as a ghost. It was the way she watched his spouse, always intent upon his actions, and the way she would sometimes come and lean against his chair, simply glad to share in his company. Sanha envied her, just a bit, that she was able to profess her affection so plainly and have it returned in kind.</p>
<p>He somewhat knew Yuri but most of his knowledge began and ended in how she related to others. She was topped with black while white ran down her chest and along the underside of her legs and belly. Her ears seemed too large upon her finely-shaped head, and sometimes, when Jinwoo smooched at her, she would huff in apparent irritation and turn her back toward him. He doted upon her, because she was newly-pregnant with her first litter.</p>
<p>Of all the dogs, she was the one who came most easily to Sanha—and he had been greatly surprised the first time she had stood beside his chair and laid her head upon his lap. The white dots that sat just above her eyes had been so reminiscent of troubled brows that he had fed her a tidbit of salmon without fully recognizing what he had done until her tongue slid neatly down the line of his fingers.</p>
<p>He had panicked then, terrified that he might have poisoned Jinwoo’s dog without meaning to, but Jinwoo had laughed and called Yuri back to his side, assuring Sanha that the fish they ate was also suitable for her. And it had surprised Sanha, to hear his husband laugh. It was the first time he had heard it since the wedding.</p>
<p>But Sanha only saw the dogs when Jinwoo was near. He kept away from the kennels, recognizing them as a place of work, and instead tried to occupy his time with other matters.</p>
<p>He had begun to take lessons again, though they were different from his Yeonsan subjects. Nhaamju might have shared a language with Yeonsan, but whereas Yeonsan had ever kept an isolated position, Nhaamju had spread its reach far and wide and had not shied away from adopting traditions from other cultures. One of his educators informed him that progressives were in a constant war with traditionalists, as parts of the nation feared they had grown too fractured with their rapid expansion in recent generations.</p>
<p>But he was glad to learn northern dances and northern etiquette: both proved far more enthralling than the droning speeches his history lessons so often dissolved into. He could recognize the necessity of it, of course. It let him see how Nhaamju had yet again expanded its power, but in such a way that Yongdu could not contradict: rather than centering its alliances upon its crown princess, the country had instead forged ties with its neighbors by way of the youngest prince. That Jinwoo had been banished to the northern-most province of Nhaamju and was well-voiced in his distaste for politics was likely why Yongdu did not fear a conquering similar to the one Hwangcheon had faced.</p>
<p>He had heard of Hwangcheon’s fall, of course. Gwangmun had earned its reputation as a nation gifted in the art of war in its bloody conquest of its southern neighbor. Nhaamju had marched northward, and they had pincered the small country. They had forced a complete surrender, and the nation had been summarily dismantled, with the bulk of it being absorbed into Nhaamju.</p>
<p>Sanha did not quite understand why his tutors so focused upon this fact until Park Minhyuk arrived at the palace on a day overcome with lightning and rain.</p>
<p>Rain lashed against the windows, and Sanha played accompaniment to the wind’s screams on his zither. He had been served hot soup for lunch and it sat warmly in his belly. The fire that raged in his hearth occasionally spat angrily when a droplet of water slid past the rain guard and fell into its heart. His husband had once more ridden out early that morning, and Sanha wondered if he would spend the night away.</p>
<p>It would be lonely, to eat dinner by himself.</p>
<p>He was almost glad when Jiyeon knocked upon his door and informed him that a guest had arrived. But then a quiet apprehension overcame him. Most of the men and women who visited the palace dealt with Yongtae. That Sanha had been alerted meant that this newcomer was someone who outranked the chief steward—which meant they were a noble of some standing. Normally, it would have fallen upon Jinwoo to greet such a person, but with his husband out, it was Sanha's responsibility.</p>
<p>Sanha set a small smile upon his lips as Jiyeon escorted him from his room and down to the main foyer. “See that we have a receiving room ready. And tea. Towels, if they’re sopping.” He did not bother asking her who the visitor was. She was as new as him to this land.</p>
<p>He was gladdened, somewhat, when he saw that Yongtae stood at the bottom of the stairs, waiting patiently beside two men. Sanha took them in at a glance: the nearer was an obvious noble, for the one that stood behind him did so with a stillness that bespoke discipline. A guard, he thought. And not one that was attached to Namudo, for the uniform he wore carried a different family’s colors.</p>
<p>Both men were overrun with water, and even as Sanha descended, several maidservants began to dry them off. The staff stepped back when Yongtae cleared his throat.</p>
<p>“His Highness, Prince-Consort Yoon Sanha,” he announced to the two men before turning to regard Sanha. “Your Highness, may I introduce Lord Park Minhyuk?”</p>
<p>Sanha bowed his head as Minhyuk swept into a deep bow. His guard bowed as well, and Sanha jerked his chin when he saw water stream from their bangs, pattering onto the floor. The maids sprang forward to continue drying the lord and his guard.</p>
<p>“His family serves as stewards to the northwestern territory.”</p>
<p>Sanha kept the smile upon his face, even as he struggled to find some sign of relation in Minhyuk’s face. He had seen it clearly in all of Jinwoo’s relatives—but this man was of a decidedly different breed, and at last he said, “Forgive me, but might I ask your relation to my Lord Husband?”</p>
<p>Minhyuk, who had endured his questioning stare with good humor, outright laughed at Sanha’s query. Yongtae’s face did not change, but Sanha noted the smallest shifting of the steward’s stance. He wondered what he had said wrong.</p>
<p>“Cousins, of a kind,” Minhyuk said, mouth curled in a half-smile. “We were never officially married in—but his grandmother named my grandfather as her brother, which is just as good.”</p>
<p><em>Hwangcheon</em>, Sanha thought. Yongtae’s reaction suggested it was a bad question to ask, but Minhyuk showed no ill will.</p>
<p>Sanha flashed another small smile and dipped his head. “I see.” If he had indeed behaved inappropriately, the best he could do was move the conversation along and not overly-dwell upon it. So, in the kindest tone he possessed, Sanha said, “Shall we move inward? The weather outside is frightful, and I would sooner see you sat beside a fire with a cup of tea than forced to stand around.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” Minhyuk answered. “You’d be a bad host if you did keep me standing here any longer.”</p>
<p>Sanha gave a polite laugh, uncertain whether Minhyuk spoke seriously or not, and gestured for his guests to follow him. Jiyeon came to his side almost immediately and quietly led them all toward the eastern wing, eventually coming to a door that opened into a drawing room.</p>
<p>“Don’t just wait outside, go and get warmed up,” Minhyuk addressed his guard. At his servant’s delay, he added more firmly, “That’s an order,” and watched the man hesitate a moment more before turning from the door.</p>
<p>Minhyuk flashed Sanha a smile and allowed himself to be directed down onto the sofa nearest the fire that had just begun to grow in its hearth.</p>
<p>“I’ll return with tea momentarily,” Jiyeon informed Sanha before directing a bow toward both men and backing out through the door.</p>
<p>Left alone with Minhyuk, Sanha offered his guest another small, vague smile, unwilling to press too much congeniality into it. Though Sanha had erred in questioning Minhyuk on his lineage, Minhyuk had likewise stumbled in arriving to the northern palace without even a messenger sent ahead of him. From what Sanha remembered, such actions suggested familiarity, and while allowed amongst friends, was frowned upon when one was newly-married.</p>
<p>Not that Minhyuk seemed to care. The man sat comfortably, his face thrown sharp and angled by the light cast from the flames. The black hair he wore in choppy, styled bangs reflected deep chestnut in the glow of the hearth. Sanha found himself wondering how he had even thought for a moment that Minhyuk might be related to Jinwoo. Minhyuk was nearly so warm in appearance as the fire itself.</p>
<p>“My apologies,” Sanha said at last, directing his gaze away from Minhyuk. “I fear my Lord Husband is out currently. With the state of this storm, I don’t think he’ll return tonight.”</p>
<p>He supposed that the man must have some urgent business. Etiquette dictated that the visitor pass on his words to the lord’s spouse, or, if they were of a private matter, come back at another time. Instead, Minhyuk laughed, raising one hand to rub at his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I should have known he’d stay out in this rain. Not often you get a chance to examine trails in wet weather outside the hunting season.”</p>
<p>“Pardon?” Sanha said. He had not expected Minhyuk to make mention of Jinwoo’s indiscretions—if he were even aware—but the lord’s words suggested Jinwoo was doing something else entirely.</p>
<p>Minhyuk raised his shoulders in a small shrug, still smiling. “We survey for future problems, of course, but you need to be out there in the rain to see what areas might flood in the future and where rockslides could occur. He’ll probably revisit regions he’s gone over in the past few days, just to see if there are any issues there while he has the chance.”</p>
<p>“He goes out so early each morning to… survey?” There came a brief knocking on the door, then, and Sanha distractedly answered, "Come in," eyes still focused on Minhyuk. But the lord paid little attention to him, and Sanha was forced to take his tea and once more usher Jiyeon out before Minhyuk would speak again.</p>
<p>He watched the lord take a long, languid sip of his tea before setting it down.</p>
<p>“For hunting season, yes,” Minhyuk said. “But don’t worry, you won’t miss your visit to the capital—that’s part of the reason I came today, to see if he wanted me to stay on even after you two had returned.”</p>
<p>Sanha normally considered himself well-versed in the act of concealing emotions, no matter how difficult. But he was so utterly flummoxed that he was not surprised when Minhyuk said, somewhat slowly, “Did I say something wrong?”</p>
<p>“I—,” Sanha started. He had known, of course, that they must still announce their marriage to the public. But he had not thought it something that warranted going to the capital, where he might have to share a bed with his spouse. Nor had he thought it something in his near future. But he decided that was of lesser consideration than what Minhyuk had said of hunting season. “You are certain he is not off with a lover?”</p>
<p>Though utterly confused, Sanha still found himself pleased to see Minhyuk now stumbling, knocked off-balance by so forthright a question. But eventually Minhyuk said, smirking a bit, “A lover when he has you? Do you really think he would?”</p>
<p>“It is not uncommon,” Sanha said delicately.</p>
<p>“Oh dear,” Minhyuk said. He sighed, rubbed his face, and added, “I was hoping you’d be smarter than him, but I guess you’re both stupid.”</p>
<p>“You can’t say that,” Sanha retorted.</p>
<p>Minhyuk’s answering smirk was enough to make Sanha snap, quite petulantly, “I am Third Prince of the Yeonsan Throne, Prince-Consort to—,” only to be cut off when Minhyuk laughed again.</p>
<p>“You’re great, Sanha,” he said. The smile he offered was kinder this time, though amusement still bled through in parts. “But Jinwoo and I agreed a long time ago we weren’t going to stand on ceremony with each other.” A touch mischievous, he added, “But feel free to tell him I slighted you. Maybe you can finally talk to him like a normal person.”</p>
<p>Sanha breathed deep, unwilling to play further into Minhyuk’s hand. He had allowed his countenance to be disrupted—but Minhyuk was worse than any other man he had encountered before. The lord spoke bluntly, and when his laugh rang through the room, it held a rough honesty. He was an unknown to Sanha, a man who could not be so easily drawn against any of the types Sanha had met within the court.</p>
<p>That he spoke so candidly made Sanha doubt his earlier suspicions of Jinwoo’s own integrity. But if he were to accept his husband’s kindness, then what?</p>
<p>He did not allow the thought of love to cross his mind.</p>
<p>“You are certain?” Sanha said at last and hated how raw the words sounded upon his tongue.</p>
<p>Minhyuk leaned back against the sofa, pulling one leg up to cross over the other. “I don’t know if it’s that you think so little of Jinwoo or yourself, but I’ll promise on my father’s land if it makes you feel at ease.” He cocked his head to the side and brought his finger up to tap against his chin. “And if I’m wrong,” he said, “I’ll come back here and challenge him in your honor.”</p>
<p>“That’s a bit much,” Sanha mumbled. Duels of honor could not be ended without one life snuffed out. He did not want to think of what would happen should his husband die.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Minhyuk said. “But I also trust Jinwoo not to do something like that.”</p>
<p> Sanha did not know what to say in response. He was saved, after a fashion, by Jiyeong knocking upon the door. When he called her to enter, she stepped back and bowed.</p>
<p>Jinwoo strode through the doorway, still clad in a traveling cloak. He had pushed the hood back from his head, and his eyes alighted in obvious joy when he saw Minhyuk, a smile curling upon his mouth.</p>
<p>Sanha took no pleasure in noting how it dropped, just a bit, when Jinwoo's gaze met Sanha’s before returning to their guest. He did not think it fear or displeasure—no, it had been dragged down by the strain of unease.</p>
<p>“Minhyuk,” Jinwoo said at the same time Sanha rose to welcome him home. They both paused briefly, staring at each other, and Minhyuk huffed.</p>
<p>“Oh, you’re both stupid.” He directed his gaze past Jinwoo to the small herd of servants who had trickled into the room after him, and said, “One of you get me a room. Draw a bath, heat the water, be ready to serve three for dinner. Make arrangements for my servant too.”</p>
<p>“Minhyuk?” Jinwoo asked, clearly dumbfounded.</p>
<p>“You two sit,” Minhyuk directed. He rose from his seat and patted the cushion firmly while staring at Jinwoo. “Come over here and talk to each other. You’d think that sort of thing would be easy, but I didn’t realize you’d married as big an idiot as you.”</p>
<p>Obviously uncomfortable, Jinwoo did as he was told. He sat down hesitantly only after drawing off his cape, handing it off to a servant who came forward to take it from him. Water streamed off it in great, dripping rivulets. Sanha watched the droplets sink down into the plush carpet underfoot, unwilling to meet his husband’s searching gaze.</p>
<p>It was a futile effort, of course, for Minhyuk, blabbermouth that he was, said, “Sanha thinks you’ve been sneaking out to see a lover, and <em>apparently</em> he didn’t know that you are going to the capital while I babysit your dogs. I don’t know exactly what the problem is, but I’d rather you straighten it out.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo’s voice was light as he said, “That’s quite an accusation. But if I’m to discuss this with my spouse, I’d rather do so <em>alone</em>.” He smiled as he spoke, but Sanha thought the expression upon his face more akin to a dog’s wrinkling muzzle.</p>
<p>“And that’s why I’m going to my room until it’s time to eat,” Minhyuk said. He moved toward the doorway, only pausing to add, “It was nice to meet you, Sanha. Remember—tell me if he’s actually scum.”</p>
<p>Weakly, Sanha answered, “I will.”</p>
<p>And then Minhyuk left, and it was just Jinwoo and Sanha.</p>
<p>Sanha had continued to stare down stubbornly at the carpet, but a great inhalation from Jinwoo raised his eyes. His husband ran his hand through his hair, looking worn. Somewhat conversationally, he said, “I didn’t even have a chance to change. These cushions are going to be ruined, if Minhyuk hasn’t already dripped all over them.”</p>
<p>“Should I… ask for a towel?” Sanha asked.</p>
<p>Jinwoo smiled, fatigue evident in the gentle slope of his eyes. “Thank you, but no.” He licked his lips and sighed again before setting his jaw and turning to face Sanha.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Jinwoo said. “I’ve been a poor husband.”</p>
<p>Etiquette dictated Sanha protest, and he did so. But he mostly argued to try and stem Jinwoo’s words, for he did not like the honesty that so garbed them. The sound of his husband’s voice, stubbornly sincere, set loose something trembling and tight inside his stomach. He could not bear for it to grow larger. “No, truly, I came to the wrong conclusion. Do not think it your fault.”</p>
<p>But Jinwoo continued doggedly on. “No, I’ve been—distant.” With a small smile, he said, “You’ve probably noticed. I wasn’t prepared for what a marriage of convenience might entail. I’m sure you know by now, but I’ve done my best not to be caught up in the typical affairs of nobles. I’d prefer to live here with my dogs and my people, without having to worry about what I say to who.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo swallowed before continuing. “Because of that, I’m sometimes too sensitive to what I perceive as slights. But we’re both new to this, and it’s unfair of me to ice you out over something that, in retrospect, was actually quite pathetic.”</p>
<p>“I’d have been mad if you’d done it to me,” Sanha said.</p>
<p>Jinwoo blanched. To Sanha’s eyes, he seemed to shrink inward by the smallest of fractions, as if to recall the memory was to relive it.</p>
<p>Sanha’s hands curled into fists upon his lap, and he had to loosen them by increments. <em>I should have apologized immediately,</em> he thought. And again the ambassador’s words came to him. His husband was indeed exactly as he appeared.</p>
<p>He found that his heart ached despite all his learned experience saying that it had been wisdom, not folly, to treat Jinwoo as he had.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said. He sucked on his lower lip before setting his hands flat upon his thighs, bowing down until his back creaked with the strain of so low a bend. He held himself there until Jinwoo made a soft sound, and only then did he sit back up.</p>
<p>“We’ve both made mistakes,” Jinwoo told him. “And I’m sure we’ll make many more. But I’ll try to talk to you from now on, if something happens.”</p>
<p>“Me too,” Sanha said. He did not want to admit that he might do poorly, for he had been taught that the airing of grievances was a habit unbecoming of a prince. It had always been expected that his followers must recognize his emotions and act accordingly, with no words spoken by him.</p>
<p>He did not know if he could so easily open up to Jinwoo—but he must try, so that he might save himself and his husband some amount of stress.</p>
<p>Mouth quirking in the first true smile Sanha had seen since their vows, Jinwoo asked gently, “You thought I went to visit a lover each day? Truly?”</p>
<p>“It is not uncommon for those of our station to take on consorts,” Sanha pointed out, mouth pressing into a pinched line when a ripple of laughter streamed from Jinwoo’s lips.</p>
<p>“But every day,” Jinwoo said. His smile stretched wider, and he said, “You must think me especially virile, then.”</p>
<p>The thought had not even crossed Sanha’s mind—that they would do <em>that</em>, though certainly what else was a courtesan good for?—but at Jinwoo’s words, he found himself covering his face as he imagined his husband in such a position. In the days that had followed their disastrous first night, he had quietly but firmly pushed all thoughts of copulation from his mind.</p>
<p>Now, it suddenly came swinging to the forefront of his mind, dragging with it an image of his husband: framed by the posters of their shared bed, the sun-kissed skin of his collarbone drawn so near that Sanha could simply reach out and kiss it, his mouth parted around the shape of Sanha’s name—Sanha choked on his own spit, his ears and cheeks and neck all burning.</p>
<p>“I did not think that at all!” he almost shrieked, desperate to push away the image that had surely been conjured up from the depths of some deep, wicked pit that had taken up residence in his brain.</p>
<p>The flush across his face burned hotter when Jinwoo laughed—a full-throated sound that bent him double, tears springing to his eyes as Sanha watched.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jinwoo said, trying to press his laughter back into his mouth even as he wiped at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I just—I think that’s the most emotion I’ve seen from you.” More kindly, eyes crinkling in a way that Sanha <em>hated</em> (except he didn’t, not really, that was the problem), he said, “It was nice.”</p>
<p>Sanha made a low grumbling sound in the depths of his throat, still trying to smooth away the heat that had crept into his cheeks. His ears, at least, could be covered by his hair. “I figured you had to keep going back because they weren’t satisfied.”</p>
<p>It was a weak insult, but the best that Sanha could come up with under such duress.</p>
<p>Jinwoo grinned wider, clearly taking no offense. “You might be right. My imaginary lover must be absolutely voracious. Ah, but,” he said, some of his amusement dying away, “Minhyuk said something about the capital?”</p>
<p>“That we would have a public wedding there?” Sanha said.</p>
<p>“Oh.” Jinwoo shook his head. “Not another wedding, but an announcement. I had meant to tell you soon.”</p>
<p>“When is it?”</p>
<p>“At the end of the month,” Jinwoo said. The smile he wore suggested that this was not an event he would enjoy but one he must participate in.</p>
<p>“Is it especially bad?” Sanha asked. He had thought the wedding ceremony they held somewhat lacking, but an announcement did not seem worth the obvious disdain Jinwoo wore.</p>
<p>Jinwoo grimaced and pressed his fingers together. “Not… bad,” he said slowly. “It’s a festival. But we’ll be there during the start of next month, so…” He trailed off, sucking on his lower lip.</p>
<p>It took Sanha a moment to realize he meant their marital night. He recognized Jinwoo’s apprehension, though. He did not know if he had a right to try and assuage his husband’s fears, but Sanha kept his voice airy as he said, “Honestly, I thought we would share quarters regardless now that we’ve married. When we visit the capital, anyway. I like being able to stretch out on my own bed when we're here.”</p>
<p>“Really?” Jinwoo asked.</p>
<p>Sanha snorted, glad to find retribution where he could. He still smarted from what his imagination had brought forth. “And you snore! I’m amazed I slept at all on our wedding night. I’m still further amazed you do not wake yourself up.”</p>
<p>In truth Jinwoo had only snored a little, and it had been when he slept flat on his back. He had quieted down as soon as he had shifted onto his side. But Sanha was more than willing to lie in this matter, especially when Jinwoo flustered.</p>
<p>“I do not snore,” his husband retorted.</p>
<p>“I’m sure your imaginary lover would tell you if they could,” Sanha said. He touched his fingers to his forehead in a gesture of weariness and said, “Ah, how will I ever get my beauty sleep if I must listen to your beastly noises?”</p>
<p>He cast his eyes toward Jinwoo, a smirk rising upon his face.</p>
<p>Whatever triumph he felt absolutely melted when Jinwoo said, “You’re beautiful enough as is.”</p>
<p>“Cheater,” Sanha told him. He smoothed down one of his sideburns, lips pressing into a pout when Jinwoo smiled back sweetly.</p>
<p>“I’m painfully sincere.”</p>
<p>Once upon a time, Sanha had feared he might waste away in a marriage built upon convenience. Now he wondered if he would survive a husband who seemed intent on killing him with honesty.</p>
<p>He could not decide if he was looking forward to dinner or not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Now that Sanha's had a chance to see them, I'll talk a bit about Jinwoo's windhounds. </p>
<p>Based on the modern-day borzoi, windhounds are long-bodied, well-winded sighthounds bred to chase down and capture game. They are meant to keep pace with the horses and, once prey has been sufficiently worn down by agitation, released to make a quick kill. They are smaller and stouter than borzoi and would more accurately be labeled as lurchers, which is a term used for any sighthound blended with another breed (typically a terrier or pastorial dog). </p>
<p>In House of the Wind, they're a breed that began under Jinwoo's directive on the advice of the old Houndmaster. Because of this, they're still relatively new and occasionally Jinwoo will cross in other breeds to try and get a bit more drive or intelligence or even swiftness if he believes they're becoming too heavy. Dogs that don't pass his stringent qualifications are removed from the breeding pool and typically placed with other families or given as gifts to visiting dignitaries. He's scrupulous in his breedings and does his best to match dogs that compliment each other. </p>
<p>(as an aside, Yuri's litter is sired by a dog borrowed from Jinwoo's brother, since Jinwoo wanted an outcross for this pairing.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Capital</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jinwoo remembers why he hates coming to the capital.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
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<p>
  <em>Thirtieth Day of the Ninth Month </em>
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  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
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  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
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<p><em>Two weeks</em>.</p>
<p>This was the amount of time his mother demanded of him. She had not phrased it as a command, of course. But Jinwoo knew well the debt he incurred by refusing to consort with politics beyond his province. To ensure that the people of Nhaamju knew well of their alliance with Yeonsan—and that Nhaamju was in control, as it was in all transactions—she expected his spouse and himself to visit the capital and stay for an indeterminable time.</p>
<p>He’d promised her two weeks and used Minhyuk’s own responsibilities to ensure their stay was not unduly lengthened. His mother (and, more importantly, her advisors) would not go against <em>that</em> side of the Park family, for to treat them unfairly was to draw upon the wrath of Yongdu. The Dragon Kings had stayed their hands in the subjugation of Hwangcheon, but they had privately advised Nhaamju to take care in how they treated their newfound cousins.</p>
<p>Ever since then, Minhyuk’s family had been afforded all it had asked for—and, at the first opportunity, Jinwoo’s grandmother had banished them to the northern lands, where they might be removed from the central politics of the capital. This banishment had come under the premise of land that was desperately in need of management and potentially filled with Hwangcheon natives, considering how close it ran to their previous border.</p>
<p>They had lived out their lives there, only rarely invited down south to participate in the grand celebrations of the capital, until Jinwoo had traveled northward to take dominion over Namudo.</p>
<p>It still made Jinwoo smile, to remember how Minhyuk had eyed him doubtfully across the dining table of their first meeting, before abruptly raising a slice of cucumber and asking Jinwoo if he wanted it. Their dinner had devolved into Minhyuk flinging cucumbers onto Jinwoo’s plate anytime the older nobles were occupied elsewhere and gagging dramatically each time Jinwoo actually ate one.</p>
<p>“What is it?” a soft voice asked, drawing Jinwoo away from his memories. He blinked and smiled wider when he locked eyes with Sanha, sat across from him in the carriage.</p>
<p>His husband had grown more talkative in the days since Minhyuk forced their confrontation, but there was still a hesitancy to him, a lingering anxiety, that reminded Jinwoo of a skittish animal. Jinwoo had taken it upon himself to speak softly and compliment his husband often, a technique developed from his time amongst dogs, though he had learned that it worked well enough on people too.</p>
<p>“I was remembering when Minhyuk and I met,” he answered. He smiled still wider when Sanha briefly turned his eyes upward. Exasperation, Jinwoo guessed, though he had learned that Sanha kept a tight lock on his expressions. He had only managed to draw out Sanha’s full emotions a few times—and each time his husband had proven exceptionally loud. He could understand why Sanha had been trained to so dampen his reactions, but he hoped his husband would slowly learn to show more of himself as time went on.</p>
<p>“A happier meeting than mine, then,” Sanha retorted.</p>
<p>Jinwoo laughed. He wondered if his husband was the type to hold grudges. Certainly, Minhyuk’s personality could be read as abrasive and almost rude—but there was a rough honesty to him that Jinwoo found endearing. And he was loyal, Jinwoo thought. Loyalty was hard to find among nobility.</p>
<p>“Do you like cucumbers?” he asked.</p>
<p>Sanha offered a half-hearted smile. Around Jinwoo, it lost most of its wooden quality; he suspected it was more habit than planned, something Sanha defaulted to when he knew not how best to proceed.</p>
<p>“They aren’t <em>bad</em>,” Sanha said.</p>
<p>Jinwoo’s smile swung wider, and Sanha’s own mouth curled a fraction higher, lifting as if drawn by the most delicate of threads.</p>
<p>“Minhyuk <em>hates</em> them.” Jinwoo told him. “Once he found out I’d eat them, he spent the entire dinner flinging his own onto my plate. One ended up in my neighbor’s wine goblet, and I had to say I’d accidentally thrown it in there while trying to eat.” Jinwoo grimaced at this part of the memory, some of his cheer falling away.</p>
<p>Had he and Minhyuk been of age and lords of their estates, nothing would have come of it. But he had been forced to say the cucumber was his fault, for the woman (a baron’s wife, who had absolutely tittered at being sat next to the third prince) had been ready to see her server lashed for such an obvious slight. Because it was him, he had only been forced into further etiquette lessons—but the discrepancy in discipline had not sat right with him, and he had bonded with Minhyuk over it afterwards.</p>
<p>He had made a friend for life, but the incident had only reminded him of what he wanted to escape.</p>
<p>Sanha smiled, misunderstanding his sudden discomfort for disgust. “You forced yourself to eat cucumbers, just to be <em>his</em> friend?”</p>
<p>Jinwoo forced himself to snort. “People my age were in short supply up north.” More cheerfully, he added, “That’s why I have so many dogs!”</p>
<p>Sanha sighed, leaning back against the cushioned seat he sat on. “My husband’s a hoarder,” he told the carriage ceiling.</p>
<p>“I could do worse,” Jinwoo said. He turned his gaze out the window, unwilling to grace Sanha with attention any longer. He knew that royalty—all royalty, it did not matter where they came from—were unaccustomed to being ignored. While he waited for the inevitable, he took in the sight of the capital: it had slowly been growing larger and larger, having begun as a mere smudge upon the horizon. Now, Jinwoo could pick out individual buildings, the proud flag of his nation draped down the side of the tallest structure. He knew the entire city must be preparing for the festival, though he was not yet able to discern the small pops of color that would be streamers and flags and decorations.</p>
<p><em>Another hour</em>, he thought. Perhaps two, for they had ridden for some time and might afford the horses another rest so that Jinwoo and Sanha could stretch their legs.</p>
<p>He did his best to keep his face smooth as the quiet sound of a clearing throat came to him. It was followed by a slightly louder sound.</p>
<p>At last, quite irritably, Sanha said, “Jinwoo?”</p>
<p>Jinwoo adopted a look of pleasant surprise as he met his husband’s eyes once more. “My apologies,” he said, “I was wondering how much longer we had to go.”</p>
<p>Sanha leapt upon the bait he offered gladly. “I was about to ask you the same,” the Yeonsan prince said, using one finger to smooth down his sideburn. To Jinwoo’s eyes, it was similar to how animals resettled their fur after a brief agitation. Minhyuk had likened this gesture especially to a cat’s, but as Jinwoo was allergic, he had only ever seen them from a wistful distance. When he had been much, much younger, there had been a time when he had wandered into the capital’s royal stables and bedded down amongst the creatures, but he had woken with his eyes watering and his face gone swollen and itchy, and that had been the last time he had been allowed so near them.</p>
<p>Jinwoo tilted his head up without thought when a shout came from ahead of their carriage. It was echoed by their own driver and continued down the caravan line. Though theirs was the only ornamental carriage, constructed especially for luxury and comfort, ahead and behind them rode their many belongings and several personal servants.</p>
<p>“Are we going to stop?” Sanha asked. He had abandoned decorum to press his face near to the window, one hand sat heavily upon the bench beside Jinwoo for balance.</p>
<p>Jinwoo considered Sanha’s hand, his own raising before he thought better of his actions and instead brought it to his mouth. It curled just under his chin in a thoughtful gesture. He smiled, a touch sheepish, when Sanha half-twisted to look back at him.</p>
<p>“I was thinking we might have one more rest,” Jinwoo said. He turned to peer out the window stood opposite Sanha’s and watched as a horseman rode by, heading down the caravan line. “Or perhaps not,” he amended, recognition clicking into place as a pair thundered after the first. He sat back down, hands folded placidly in his lap.</p>
<p>At Sanha’s questioning look, he said, “Queen’s Guard. They’ll provide us a royal escort into the city.”</p>
<p>“So we’re close,” Sanha said, resettling himself as well. As if suddenly reminded that he was a prince, he took time to smooth out his robes, resettling the collar of his coat and gently patting at his hair to ensure it had not become disheveled with his movements.</p>
<p>“You’re fine,” Jinwoo told him. In truth, there was an errant curl that sometimes pushed through the shorter hair toward the back of Sanha’s skull, but Jinwoo considered it a harmless feature. With a half-smile, he added, “Not so close as you would like, I think.” And, though he thought it a bold suggestion, he carefully slid down the bench and patted the space he left open. “Sit here, you’ll be able to see how far we are.”</p>
<p>He had thought his husband might refuse his suggestion, for he would have certainly hesitated at a similar offer from Sanha. But the Yeonsan prince did as he was bid, settling into the seat beside Jinwoo, so near that their garments brushed against each other. Jinwoo found himself leaning away, not so greatly as to be noticeable, but just enough that they would not make actual contact. The carriage, as grandly as it was designed, was not made for more than two passengers, and they were meant to be sat across from each other.</p>
<p>With all the consideration he utilized when working around an especially skittish hound, Jinwoo carefully slid from his spot, taking up position where Sanha had previously sat. He did not think the Yeonsan prince knew quite what the effort cost Jinwoo, for when Sanha looked toward Jinwoo, it was only with a curious sort of interest—nothing to suggest he understood why Jinwoo had moved.</p>
<p>Jinwoo smiled and said, “There isn’t a lot of room.” Sanha hummed a small agreement before redirecting his gaze out the window.</p>
<p>It took only a moment for Sanha to wrinkle his nose and make an unpleasant sound of complaint. “I should have brought another book,” he said, nodding toward the novel he’d discarded some time earlier on the floor of their compartment. “We have <em>forever</em> to go.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo laughed. “Well,” he said, “let’s do our best to keep each other occupied, shall we?”</p>
<p> </p>
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<p>
  <em>First Day of the Tenth Month </em>
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<p>
  <em>Under the 26th Year of Her Most Gracious Majesty</em>
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  <strong> <em>-</em> </strong>
</p>
<p>Above Jinwoo, the sky above was painted a brilliant blue. Around him, elegantly-constructed buildings that served as specialized boutiques and bustling restaurants shivered with unexpected pops of color. Streamers tumbled upon a playful wind that coiled through the narrow alleyways and skittered across the broad avenues, their flags snapping busily above the murmur of the crowd. Beneath the scattered conversations came the softest sound of music, stretched thin by distance and bent oddly by angles, but still discernable to the prince’s ear. The flute came most easily, as if ushered toward him by the wind itself.</p>
<p>It was a scene of fanfare, of celebration. He found himself looking upward often, simply to marvel at how even the rooftops crowded with men and women, each one waving excitedly when they spotted his upturned face. He smiled at each in turn and when a small child half-leaned over the edge to wave at him—her father or brother gripping her tightly by the waist so that she would not tumble—his own hand rose of its own volition.</p>
<p>“I see it’s been going well,” Jihae murmured into Jinwoo’s ear.</p>
<p>He grimaced, looking back over his shoulder at his sister, his attention drawn away from the child. His hand fell back to his side.</p>
<p>He had known that she would eventually speak on his relationship with his husband. Sanha and he had been allowed a half-day’s respite to recover from the trip and had only earlier revealed their official marriage to the public.</p>
<p>It had been his mother’s idea to announce it on the day that coincided with their one-month anniversary.</p>
<p>Considering the response they had gotten, Jinwoo wondered if their visit had even been needed: it had been a secret so open that men and women had called out their congratulations when Jinwoo and Sanha had first entered the city. But, since it was well-known, it also meant that the city had been granted the necessary time to prepare for the royals’ inevitable walk through its streets.</p>
<p>They had an armed guard, of course. And Jinwoo suspected that unmarked soldiers patrolled through the crowd, blending in with the festivities. He imagined that any hint of strife would be snuffed out long before their procession drew near—not that there was any need for dissatisfaction on this day, for his mother had thrown wide the royal coffers and paid off in full all food and drink strewn through the roads. Even the poorest of the poor might afford a meal typically barred to them, and citizens who worked on the outskirts of the city or out on the farms had ridden in that day to share in the festivities.</p>
<p>It was an absurdly luxurious way to keep down dissent. But, as ever, beneath her charity lay an undeniable show of power: that such a costly action would not cause Nhaamju to flinch, that they could afford greater and yet greater still. It was a spectacle aimed at those who might report back to the other nations—and it was a mark of contempt, however slight, against Yeonsan, who surely could not have afforded such wondrous celebration had Jinwoo been the one to join <em>their</em> family.</p>
<p><em>Well</em>, Jinwoo thought, a smile rising on his lips as he once more looked toward his husband, stood some short distance away with his servant at his side, <em>even if Sanha noticed, he isn’t going to let them see. </em></p>
<p>Their procession had temporarily halted so that Sanha might partake in the local cuisine. The Yeonsan prince watched, almost enraptured, as a stall-worker went through the process of making the food he had ordered. Jiyeon stood just behind him, hands folded primly before her, while Heejung watched on, having been the one to initially point out the stall to them as they walked.</p>
<p>“I was worried there might be difficulties,” Jihae continued, offering Jinwoo a small smile that flickered and died even as Jinwoo met her gaze.</p>
<p>Jinwoo was keenly aware of the audience that milled around them. Public events attended by the ruling sovereign were not uncommon in the capital, and the people were accustomed to having their crown princess walk among them. But such familiarity did not set his sister at ease: she would only strip away the mantle of heir when she was behind closed doors.</p>
<p>“Never,” he answered with a smile of his own—he was allowed to express emotion because everyone knew the third prince was a wild and wandering son, a man more suited to woodwork with hounds than tea time in the capital. Unlike his sister, refinement was not a skill Jinwoo was expected to have mastered.</p>
<p>He licked his lips and diverted his gaze when his sister offered him an appraising look. “Of course not,” she said. “And when shall I receive my cute little nieces and nephews?”</p>
<p>Jinwoo could not keep himself from rolling his eyes. The corner of Jihae’s mouth twitched, threatening to upturn, but she kept her face under control. There was only the softest sound of exhalation pushed from between her lips—and Jinwoo recognized that it was the closest to a laugh she would allow herself.</p>
<p>“Mayhaps when I have the right parts,” Jinwoo retorted. Not that he could even begin to imagine actual children. That he could joke as such with his sister was due only to the fact that children born between Sanha and himself were a biological impossibility.</p>
<p>He still found himself unduly flustered when Sanha suddenly returned to his side, the Yeonsan prince’s mouth curled in a cat’s grin. “For you,” he told Jinwoo, offering up a stick upon which many small pieces of fried dough had been impaled.</p>
<p>On Jinwoo’s other side, Heejung offered a similar stick to Jihae, only for the crown princess to quietly demur. Jinwoo took his, simply because whatever imagine he had in the eyes of the capital could not be further tarnished by enjoying a snack with his husband. And, with a piece stuffed into his mouth, it became acceptable for him to end his conversation with his sister.</p>
<p>It was not that he did not wish to speak with his sister. But he had come to recognize that with Sanha at his side, he was no longer a piece upon Nhaamju’s board that could so easily be shoved off to the side. If he pushed to assert his influence as third child of the reigning queen, he could do so. And with a husband who acted as the lynchpin in a recently-forged alliance, it meant that what pressure he did exert would be considerable.</p>
<p><em>The Yeonsan ambassador never told them</em>, Jinwoo thought, gently teasing another piece of dough off its stick with his lips. His eyes briefly rested on Jihae before moving onto Sanha who was scanning the second- and third-story balconies from whence hung an assortment of tumbling flowers and creeping ivies and fluttering streamers. <em>But now I’m here, and they’ve realized it. And they don’t want me to know.</em></p>
<p>There were too many eavesdroppers on the crowded street; Jinwoo would make his priorities clear to his sister later, when they might speak in private. For the time being, he could only focus upon the celebration and prove that he truly held no interest in the politics that extended outside his lands. He certainly would never attempt to usurp his sister’s crown.</p>
<p>“It’s good,” he told Sanha. He sucked on his tongue, a lingering sweetness still upon it, and asked, “What was it topped with?”</p>
<p>The Yeonsan prince delicately nibbled at his own. Jinwoo saw a flash of his tongue, pink in the darkness of his mouth, and reflexively turned his eyes down onto his own treat.</p>
<p>“Powdered sugar,” Sanha said, his words somewhat mumbled around the gob of food in his mouth. He swallowed and dabbed at his chin, adding, “I think.”</p>
<p>“Makes sense,” Jinwoo said.</p>
<p>They continued on in this way, only occasionally stopping so that Sanha might meet an especially prestigious local or sample a food Nhaamju held especial pride in. It was with some amusement that Jinwoo came to realize that Sanha returned to his side when anxious, seeking reassurance the same way a dog would. Once he was properly emboldened, the Yeonsan prince would once more strike out on his own, his maidservant trailing after him like a dutiful shadow.</p>
<p>Jinwoo doubted Sanha was even aware of what he did. But the knowledge of it once more brought a strange yearning to Jinwoo’s hand, and he was swift to stash it in his trouser pocket when Sanha drew near. He would not allow even a simple brush of their fingers; he could not afford a reaction, whether it be positive or negative, in so public an area.</p>
<p>His husband was too polite to comment upon the tension that turned Jinwoo’s smile razor-thin when they finally escaped the festivities by returning to the palace. “I’m a bit tired,” he said, and Sanha made the appropriate sound of sympathy.</p>
<p>Jihae used this excuse as an opportunity and begged for but a moment to speak with her brother while Heejung and Sanha continued on to a parlor that had already been set up for the two couples. As the crown princess, she was not denied or even questioned.</p>
<p>She did not take her brother far—only into a small antechamber that Jinwoo thought must attach to a personal library or music room, for the sounds within fell strangely and did not resound off the walls as was the typical habit of speech. <em>Something in the walls</em>, he suspected. Something that would not allow outsiders to hear those within and would likewise deaden all noise from without.</p>
<p>In another country, such a room would have proven perfect for quiet assassinations. In the capital of Nhaamju, stood beside his sister, Jinwoo only knew that what Jihae wanted to say was not meant for any ears but his.</p>
<p>Glad to have all eyes and ears off him, if only temporarily, Jinwoo practically threw himself down onto a waiting sofa, a loud exhalation bursting from between his lips, so great in its gusto that his sister outright guffawed.</p>
<p>Her serene countenance crumbled, and she laughed again, more quietly. The corners of her eyes crinkled in obvious delight. “You’d think I’d been making you march through the Spines,” she told him, a reference to the mountain range that ran along Namudo’s north-most borders. “Or are our streets of a rougher quality than your many woods?” She grinned as she asked this.</p>
<p>“Too many people,” he answered, passing one hand over his face. “And too many politics. I’d worry less if I could cut out my own tongue.”</p>
<p>Jihae laughed again, circling the sofa to rest her hands upon its back, propping herself up above him so that a curtain of hair fell around her as she tilted her chin down to look at him. “Your husband might take offense,” she pointed out.</p>
<p>Jinwoo allowed himself to force out a short, hard laugh that transitioned into an obvious groan as it stretched on. “Despite what you might think of me, I’ve no actual use for it right now. Sanha probably wouldn’t even notice it had gone.”</p>
<p>Jihae clucked. “That’s disappointing, Jinwoo. I thought you learned better from Jun and me.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo’s voice was flat as he tipped his chin back to peer up at her. “My apologies, dear sister,” he said, “I wasn’t able to become a lech like you two.”</p>
<p>She outright cackled, her voice so like the harsh bark of a crow, bereft of all musicality, that Jinwoo found himself chuckling alongside her. “You are the <em>worst</em> princess,” he said.</p>
<p>“We’ve had worse, surely,” Jihae answered. “None that come to mind, but, of course, Nhaamju would not want us to remember them. Ah, but—,” and she paused, leaning back from the sofa, her hands curling down into the fabric, “—would you fight me, for the throne?”</p>
<p>“Of course not,” Jinwoo said. “I just want to live in Namudo, with my dogs. I did as was expected of me and took a foreign husband to better benefit Nhaamju.” He steepled his fingers together, setting the base of his palms in his lap. “All I ask is to be left alone.”</p>
<p>There was a moment of silence. It stretched so long that Jinwoo wondered if his words had proven unsatisfactory. But just as he began to doubt, he heard the softest of sighs from behind him and recognized it as Jihae breathing out in relief.</p>
<p>“And I <em>told them</em>,” she said, an unusual flash of heat behind her words. “I’m sorry, Jinwoo, I know this isn’t Joryeong. You wouldn’t—but I had to check.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo raised his shoulders in a shrug. “It’s understandable,” he said. He knew better than to fear his own sister. Fear would turn to resentment, and resentment could poison even the strongest hearts. It was better to accept that his sister had distrusted him only because she must, as crown princess, and with his loyalty reaffirmed they could once more return to being siblings and not political opponents.</p>
<p>He still tensed when she added, “Oh, and—there was something else.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo flashed an uneasy grin, mouth stretched wide in what he could only think of as a smile of appeasement, the same look his dogs gave him when they knew they had done wrong and only sought to reassure him that it would not happen again. “It’s too soon for me to be married a second time,” he tried to joke.</p>
<p>“It’s nothing like that,” Jihae hurried to say. “But we’ve recently received confirmation that one of the candidates to the Dragon Throne, Cha Eunwoo, will be staying with us for the upcoming year.” More quietly, as if speaking a secret, she said, “He’s supposedly <em>the</em> pick for the position, right now.”</p>
<p>“Eunwoo?” Jinwoo repeated. He twisted where he sat, half-climbing the back of the sofa to look at his sister. She wore a grin, her right cheek dimpled from how wide it stretched upon her face. “Jihae!”</p>
<p>She laughed. “I knew that would please you!” She brought her hands together in a pleased clap, still beaming. “He’ll have to spend some time in the capital, of course, but I am going to suggest he might benefit from visiting Namudo. After all, Yongdu never did forgive Nhaamju for what it did to Hwangcheon. They’ll probably like the idea of their potential heir visiting descendants of its royal line.”</p>
<p>“You mean Minhyuk and his family,” Jinwoo said.</p>
<p>“Exactly,” Jihae said.</p>
<p>“Invite Bin and Myungjun, and it’ll be just like my childhood playdates,” Jinwoo told her. He supposed Eunwoo visiting Nhaamju made the most sense, if he truly was the most probable choice at the moment. Nhaamju was the largest of Yongdu’s allies—and certainly the cause of their largest headaches—and had begun to become the keystone that Yongdu once acted as within the eastern kingdoms.</p>
<p>It had been nearly a year since Jinwoo had last seen his friend, and he had to fight against the anticipation that rose within him, as insistent and unreasonable as a child. But one thing continued to scrape at his mind: “Was it the queen’s advisors who suggested you send him to Namudo to visit me?”</p>
<p>The tightening of his sister’s face was answer enough, but he allowed her to confirm his suspicions.</p>
<p>“They thought to soften you up and remind you that Namudo is worth more to you than the capital.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo’s lips rose in a half-smile. “I didn’t need them to tell me that,” he said. “They can be a bunch of annoying flies in <em>your</em> hair, dear sister.”</p>
<p>“How generous,” Jihae retorted, a smile of her own tugging insistently at her lips. “But let us be off. I’ve said my piece, and you’ve certainly rested enough. We can’t have our dear spouses thinking we’ve abandoned them.”</p>
<p>“No, never,” Jinwoo agreed, rising from the sofa. “After you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jinwoo found himself almost pleased to share a bedchamber with his husband that night. He knew they could not be considered a proper couple; there was no sense of love between them. But he had begun to think of the Yeonsan prince as a friend and confidant—and, in the tangled web of the court, where he was forever watched and judged, there was something gratifying in having a stalwart ally who would not betray him.</p>
<p>After all, if Sanha were to go against Jinwoo, he would find himself inevitably dragged down as well.</p>
<p>As Jinwoo had suspected, his sister had carefully arranged for them to have separate rooms on all other days. But, as this was their marital night, they were expected to sleep together.</p>
<p>Yet again, he was the second to arrive at their shared bedroom. Unlike in his palace, here they were forced to take up residence in a third room that belonged to neither of them, but Jinwoo did not find himself especially nervous on the walk over.</p>
<p>He knocked upon the door with the back of his hand that clutched a pre-opened bottle of wine. It was something his sister had offered to him, delicate and sprightly upon the tongue but quick to bring sleep for those who drank in excess. Because he did not know well his husband’s palate (or even his tolerance), he had taken it, for it seemed the most bearable of the options presented.</p>
<p>“I brought a gift,” he called through the door.</p>
<p>There came a shuffling from within and then a soft click. Sanha drew open the door and looked down upon the bottle of wine Jinwoo clutched, having obviously thrown a robe over his bedclothes. His face had already been washed clean of its customary face paint. To Jinwoo’s eyes, he looked warm and soft, and he felt his own expression soften in response.</p>
<p>“Wine?” Sanha asked, opening the door wider for Jinwoo to step through. His voice carried a note of light-hearted reproach when he said, “Are you planning to get me drunk?”</p>
<p>“I thought we might enjoy each other’s companionship before we went to bed. Unless you’d prefer we blow out the candles right now and just lie on the bed in silence like last time.” Jinwoo did not look at Sanha as he spoke, instead moving toward a small table with a pair of matching chairs stood beside it. He set down the bottle and the two wineglasses he had brought. It took him a moment to draw the cork free from the bottle but at last he was able to fill each glass—the wine was gold so pale it might well have been clear; Jinwoo tapped one glass just to watch the way bubbles tumbled within at the smallest disturbance. The wine bottle had sat beneath iceboxes to be kept suitably chilled which meant the wine would grow less appetizing as it warmed.</p>
<p>“That was thoughtful of you,” Sanha said, trailing after him. He peered briefly over Jinwoo’s shoulder to look down upon the wine glasses; without his customary boots, the distance between them was heightened.</p>
<p>To avoid any further acknowledgement of such a discrepancy in height, Jinwoo circled the table, drawing out one of the chairs so that he might sit and gesturing for Sanha to do the same. “Yes, well,” he said, drawing his wine glass close so that he might look within it. Anything to avoid Sanha’s gaze, if only for a moment. “It is as much for my comfort as yours.”</p>
<p>Sanha hummed a response; Jinwoo could not tell if it was agreement or merely an acknowledgement of his words. Then, taking up his glass, he asked, “Well, shall we? I assume this is meant to be kept cold.”</p>
<p>“Cheers,” Jinwoo said. He stretched his arm forward and their glasses connected with the softest of sounds. Jinwoo took a small sip and found the taste inoffensive. Sanha, however, made a surprised sound on his first sip.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t actually taste bad,” he said, looking first at his glass and then toward the bottle. He took another sip, of a larger quantity than his first, and added, “It really is quite nice.”</p>
<p>“Jihae suggested it,” Jinwoo told him. “I’ll see about getting a few bottles for us before we leave.”</p>
<p>“What did she want to talk to you about?” Sanha asked. His nose wrinkled as he added, “Assuming I’m allowed to know.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo laughed. “No secrets between us.”</p>
<p>He was surprised when Sanha looked toward him pointedly. The Yeonsan prince was silent for a moment as he took another gulp. Jinwoo thought he might be drinking the alcohol too fast, but the strange expression Sanha wore in that moment stilled his tongue. He could only wait.</p>
<p>At last, Sanha’s mouth fell into a wan smile. In a voice that ran so soft Jinwoo feared it would fall apart completely, he said, “It is not birthed—it is built. It is in the building that it is made stable.” At Jinwoo’s confused expression, he added, “Trust, that is.” He took another draught of wine. “Trust and things like it.”</p>
<p>“Like love,” Jinwoo said. He thought that Sanha was beginning to flush, overcome by the alcohol. He also did not want to linger on such a dangerous topic, so he only allowed a moment for Sanha to bob his head in assent before saying, “Jihae wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to take her crown.”</p>
<p>A shocked laugh slipped from between Sanha’s lips. “A third-born could never overthrow a first-born, especially not one so beloved by the people.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo smiled weakly, again reminded of just how sheltered Sanha must have been within the borders of Yeonsan. His husband knew well how to navigate the intrigue that abounded within court, but he could not yet recognize that there was a still greater hand than that of backroom deals and conspiracy-laced whispers. He knew not how alliances always hinged upon select individuals, and while he undoubtedly could place his own value in Nhaamju, he could not see how Jinwoo had bound Gwangmun and Joryeong to himself as well. And, should Eunwoo take his place as the heir of Yongdu, Jinwoo was set to become a focal point within Nhaamju that could no longer be ignored.</p>
<p>This knowledge, presented so suddenly, forced him to drink deep from the wine glass, draining what remained in a single gulp. He poured himself another draught and only smiled again, his mouth numb, when Sanha cautioned him to slow his consumption.</p>
<p>“Are you that worried?” Sanha asked him, some of the good cheer brought on by the alcohol burned off in the obvious face of Jinwoo’s distress. He raised his hand, as if to lay it upon Jinwoo’s arm, and abruptly pulled it back, curling it into a fist upon his lap.</p>
<p>The sight of Sanha’s hesitation, so reflective of his own but a day before, made Jinwoo smirk a bit as he drank more languidly from his cup. “I think I just miss my dogs,” he mumbled.</p>
<p>“Just two weeks,” Sanha told him softly.</p>
<p>“Well,” Jinwoo said slowly, “there is some good news.” He met Sanha’s eyes and smiled sweetly. “Yuri’s pups will be only a few weeks away by the time we’re back home. I can’t wait to meet them.”</p>
<p>“That’ll be good,” Sanha agreed.</p>
<p>Jinwoo laid his head upon the table. It was only for a moment, he promised himself. He was aware of Sanha rising, but he did not try to track his husband’s movements. It felt like only a second had passed before Sanha had once more returned, something long and bulky in his arms. His fingers touched upon the strings, gently teased down the line of one before purposely plucking—and Jinwoo recognized the instrument as Sanha’s Yeonsan zither.</p>
<p>“I didn’t realize you’d brought it,” Jinwoo said, raising his head just enough that he might look at Sanha.</p>
<p>His husband gave him a shy, soft smile, another cord of music spilling from the zither as his fingers swept down the strings. “I realized you had never heard me play, and I thought it might be a nice way to pass the time.”</p>
<p>Jinwoo smiled as well and resettled his head upon the table, propped up on his crossed arms so that he could watch his husband more easily. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” he murmured, his words gently slurred both by his position and the alcohol that was beginning to weigh down his tongue.</p>
<p>Another ripple of sound poured from the zither, and Jinwoo sighed. To his ears, the wash of music came as the sounds of Namudo: the soft whisper of wind through the tall grasses, the reluctant creaking of oaks grown old and weary. He heard the tumbling, rollicking laughter of water as it ran over stones rounded smooth by its many feet. And he saw, for his eyes had closed as he sank deeper and deeper into a restful doze, the many lean, bounding bodies of his dogs: running in tandem with the wind, their feet threatening to lift off into the sky.</p>
<p>In his dreams, Jinwoo laughed and chased after them, his hands reaching high. He was earthbound, clover clinging to his legs, honeysuckle crawling up his waist—but he still reached, smiling wide when his fingers scraped against the clouds that drifted overhead. A hand touched his cheek, the fingers thin and cool, and someone whispered in his ear, “Let’s sleep, Jinwoo.”</p>
<p>He did not remember moving to the bed he shared with Sanha, but when he next awoke he found himself upon it, one arm hooked around his husband’s waist. Still half-faded with sleep, he could not bring himself to care and simply buried his face against Sanha’s back, sighing against his warmth.</p>
<p>Jinwoo drifted off again, and this time he did not dream.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sanha’s zither is based on the gayageum but has been massively modified to be more portable / suitable for quick play. His does have an attachable stand though for when he needs to perform for a court audience. Please enjoy a gayageum cover of Ed Sheeran’s Shape of You <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dh3-1oyCkyQ">here</a>.</p>
<p>Also thank you if you've commented! I haven't had a chance recently to reply to comments recently, but I love reading them ;_; </p>
<p>(also next chapter is finally puppies!!)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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